You.
When I was small, I wanted you to be impressed by me.
I wanted you to love me, fear me, protect me, believe in me.
A myriad of things come to mind when I think about you.
Most of it is abuse.
Some of it is good.
When I was a teenager, I didn't want anything to do with you.
I had already figured out what the child hadn't.
You didn't love me the way a father loves his child.
Some of that was abuse.
Most of it was really bad.
As an adult, you abandoned me. I was nineteen and running scared.
It took two years to admit what I had been running from.
It took damn near ten years to get to this poem.
Most of it is pointless by now.
Some of it is worthwhile because I feel the need.
I'm not going to say I've forgiven you, because I probably never will.
It took almost ten years to realize that I don't have to forgive you.
That I can forget you without forgiving. It's not like you asked for it anyway.
Some of that could be called childish.
Most of it is for my own protection.
If it was just me, I could've forgotten you a long time ago.
But it isn't just me, is it? There are my other halves too.
Your daughter, my sister. My brother, your enemy.
Most of this is pointless. It's not like you'll read it. It's not like you'd care anyway.
Some of it hurts more than I'd willingly admit to you.
I wish it had been just me. That you weren't a constant reminder.
A lingering memory I can't shake, attached to gray matter I can't pick at.
I'll sit with the memories though, remember and then let you go.
