fathers legacy
I'm what remains when I forgave myself.
But
The splinters of my father's thoughts. His memory, his methods, Are a spike, rooted deep Like a cursed pole Sending my compass To false north.
But I'm his legacy That has to grow above That has to a accept and forgive That has to go beyond.
This is my problem, That isn't my problem.
I hate him and I see myself In my memories of him.
Growing and accepting. Whatever it takes to grow. Whatever I can do. I have to.