Naive

today for the first time in a long time i missed him, i missed the man who’s picture i have folded neatly in a brown cardboard box tucked underneath my bed, i missed the man who used to promise me the all my dreams would come true, the man that would scare away the monster that lay beneath my bed, the man who would throw the footy around with me on a moonlit afternoon, the man who would dance around the living room to Michael jackson songs with me and make angel hair spaghetti for me when had a bad day but to all who know me today the man in the pictures is dead, i make up story’s on how he died, different ones to every person i meet so no one knows the truth i make up story’s how he was my hero and all the amazing things he accomplished, i say story’s because i wouldn’t call them lies, he was my hero and the person i keep a photo of neatly folded in a brown cardboard box underneath my bed did die, the man i once called my father is now no more than a stranger a stranger who believes drugs are the only way he can make it through the day, a stranger who uses alcohol to numb the memories, a stranger who lives on unfulfilled promises, a stranger who has become like one of the monsters i used to fear were under my bed, today for the first time in a long time i missed him, i missed the man who’s picture i have folded neatly in a brown cardboard box tucked beneath my bed, if only i wasn’t so naive.