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



it’s all the same



in my blood


I don’t want him on my face


She’d rather not resemble anyone



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

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