What about those times we spent together?
Or about those cheap promises you made?
I didn’t know it then, but I know it now –
Your version of truth was never sound.
What happened to playing and wrestling around,
Throwing me in the air,
Or pushing the swing?
What happened to the effort of just being there?
Why did you leave?
Why did you make me grow up by myself?
All the things boys learn from their fathers
I had to learn alone.
I still have scars on my face
From when I taught myself to shave.
Relearning how to put on my belt
Because, for years, I had been doing it the wrong way.
It’s things like this
I wonder if you even think about?