fathers legacy
I'm what remains when
I forgave myself.
But
The splinters of my father's thoughts.
His memory, his methods,
Are a spike, rooted deep
Like a cursed pole
Sending my compass
To false north.
But I'm his legacy
That has to grow above
That has to a accept and forgive
That has to go beyond.
This is my problem,
That isn't my problem.
I hate him and I see myself
In my memories of him.
Growing and accepting. Whatever it takes to grow. Whatever I can do. I have to.