How I Really Feel

To my father: I do well with poetic phrases and flowery verse What I don't do well is sharing my hurt. If I've learned anything from you it's that smiling tough through the pain Always gives the best result and gain. As I looked through pictures to go with the flowery, love filled homage I wrote to you; I was struck with such a sense of profound sadness, You are still alive, yet I mourn you, Documented memories of times we shared are few. I see fathers and daughters who talk or text each other every day, the last message I got from you was on my birthday. I see fathers who show interest in whatever their children do, When I stop to see my mother and stay for a visit for a moment to visit with you; I feel like I'm taking away from your time , I have to hurry up to go; Even if you don't say so. My perfunctory kiss is all you will take, No hugs or affection, or I love you, make my heart ache. I can't call you just to chat about nothing, I can't ask for advice, When you do give me a compliment I have to think twice. You don't tell me if I make you proud or glad Superfluous, superficiality is all to be had. Ill at ease I feel in the home I grew up in There is no joy to be shared within. Rejected, abandoned, angry, I feel as a child who is lost Struggling to find my way and be loved at any cost. I can't be what you want I'm not up to that task Acceptance and unconditional love is all that I ask.