fatherhood/surgery | daughter/incantation | a poem with a headful of tainted fabrics

there are too many fathers

in the one I have

I can’t find the one who is nice to me

*

he never makes it through

*

she’ll wear my face for the rest of her life

you’ll see me there

*

he barely made it out alive

*

she let them cut her face open

into her flesh

my blood

and reshape her

bastardise her face

take my father away

self-exile

exile

it’s all the same

stitches

flooded

in my blood

*

I don’t want him on my face

*

She’d rather not resemble anyone

yet

*

she tore her page out of his book

*

you’re not writing one single word

*

she was never interested in what he wanted to say

what he had to say

what they wanted to kill inside of him

for good money

they taught her well

cut the father out of the daughter

silenced on his deathbed

the daughter wears a blank face

over an erased history

Photo by Elizaveta Dushechkina on Pexels.com

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s