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Poem

“The gift of recovery should be a coveted treasure. It’s the hand that adds stars to the night sky.”  
                      - Quote by Poet 

He couldn’t see me for who I truly am, 
He didn’t understand me.  
His words cut me deeply,  
Stabbing at my heart in many ways.

My father thinks I’m the least of his children.  
He feels I’m woody and tardy.  
My father says that when he thinks of me, his heart bleeds,  
Because I’m not racing ahead like the others.

How can I make him understand me?  
How can I open the door for him to walk through?  
He doesn’t see the passion that’s brewing within me, 
He’s oblivious to my struggles and turmoil.

My father hurls words at me as if I were a lifeless object.  
Sometimes I wonder if he ever considers the harm his words could cause if allowed to sink in deeply.  
Perhaps he thinks it’s the best way to ignite my potential.

How could he understand that I weave words together,  
That my muse won’t let me choose a different path?  
Sometimes it wakes me in the middle of the night,  
For I am an enigma still seeking light.

I have learned to find ways to heal from my bruises.  
I bask in the music of words,  
I turn to nature and the Divine,  
And I add colour to my thoughts.


November 1, 2024.

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