"Impossible Conversation."
I always want to tell my father about my day, but that's gonna be an "impossible conversation." He loves talking to me, but not talking about me. That's the gap, the difference. But, I've been always dreaming about a memorable talk that he could mention my name as his favorite daughter. But, I am not. He even forgets about my birthday or about January 22 years ago when I was born without his 100% love as my sisters had. It's a tragic or I can tell you something that I wish I didn't write this kind of shit 'cause it's killing me. And, I have no one to talk about it but my mom right now is sleeping next to me, sharing blanket with me, and she said it's a very good damn cold morning. She asks me to wake up and grab my breakfast, but this kinda day I don't feel like food is good for me.
A couple of days ago, I performed a spoken poetry in college stage, the things I've been dreaming about and people loved it, I guess. And, I really want to tell them, my parents, about it. About how I love writing poems and tearing papers with my shitty words. But, guess yes, they don't even care. They even said something I don't wanna hear about a few years ago when I ruined the stage with my bass voice. I said, it's been a century ago, I'm growing up now. Then, my poetry line was about how I love my father's footsteps and yes I almost cried on the stage. I meant it when I wrote it. I meant it when I said it. But, I don't know why tonight it feels like an irony. I mean, those footsteps are lame now 'cause .... my father didn't even ask me about how I am doing and I'm getting skinnier day by day. He talks to me about his job and his friends that died everyday. But, I really wanna talk to him about my final year, about my plan getting graduate this year, about my bestfriends who bought me ice creams, about me earning my own money, about me on the spoken poetry stage last day, about how lonely I am, about my stories getting published, or a small talk about random thing it's okay. But, we don't. He keeps talking about his bad days and it's making me feel like 'I'm sorry, Dad.' But, I wish yes I wish he could take a moment about how I have trying my best to not making him sad. I have been trying...
Now, I'm wondering if his other kids ever think about him this much as I do, cause they all are seem suck.
A couple of days ago, I performed a spoken poetry in college stage, the things I've been dreaming about and people loved it, I guess. And, I really want to tell them, my parents, about it. About how I love writing poems and tearing papers with my shitty words. But, guess yes, they don't even care. They even said something I don't wanna hear about a few years ago when I ruined the stage with my bass voice. I said, it's been a century ago, I'm growing up now. Then, my poetry line was about how I love my father's footsteps and yes I almost cried on the stage. I meant it when I wrote it. I meant it when I said it. But, I don't know why tonight it feels like an irony. I mean, those footsteps are lame now 'cause .... my father didn't even ask me about how I am doing and I'm getting skinnier day by day. He talks to me about his job and his friends that died everyday. But, I really wanna talk to him about my final year, about my plan getting graduate this year, about my bestfriends who bought me ice creams, about me earning my own money, about me on the spoken poetry stage last day, about how lonely I am, about my stories getting published, or a small talk about random thing it's okay. But, we don't. He keeps talking about his bad days and it's making me feel like 'I'm sorry, Dad.' But, I wish yes I wish he could take a moment about how I have trying my best to not making him sad. I have been trying...
Now, I'm wondering if his other kids ever think about him this much as I do, cause they all are seem suck.
Hey, you're okay. We're all gonna be okay. We're different, but that's a good thing. *hugs*
ReplyDeletethank you, buddy. we're all just okay. *hugs*
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