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About This Poem
I, Judas
Sometimes, I don't want to think about it,
how he never believed in true love,
how he never waited for love,
but begged for love –
and god, he loved them all!
He wasn't a man I could respect.
Cruel and cold,
a simpleton at best.
I read his poetry this morning
the poems he wrote for all his kids
and noticed one was missing
his first born daughter,
the one who loved him the best.
I know I've heard it before,
but it's not even listed in the index,
as if she never existed.
How her heart must ache.
Unconditional love
was never unconditional
at our house.
I knew, early on,
that I did not belong.
I forgave him for the abuse
and abandonment,
but what he did to my mother,
I could not forgive and forget.
I made excuses for his behavior,
because I wanted to love
and respect him,
but he never did gain my respect.
He's gone now,
an empty shell of whom he used to be,
cold and alone in death.
I bowed to kiss his forehead.
I, Judas, bowed to the kiss of death.
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