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Lately I've read poetry

gathered my praise

while inside, emotions roiled

reading to the brink of tears

my voice breaks

but why?

 

An inner vault

locked from my knowledge

vents through expression

pours by release

 

Today the vault opened

 

My mother is sick

inside she's dying

all I see is tired

making it easy to ignore

because I'm sick too

working 'til midnight

but our money is still tight

and school starts at eight

 

By the end of the month

there's no money for bread

but I'm saving up

to get a house for myself

with bills and a phone

and all of my worries are my own

but that's still a dream

I'm only eighteen

and my parents might not live

to see thirty one

 

It's hard to grow up

so fast, while mother sleeps

and I work for the household

I wish I was ten

somedays, at least

Can I go back to then?

Elementary school fun

so nieve and dumb

 

Now I must fight to survive

 

They cut my hours to six

saying “school's important,”

I tell them that I'm saving up

to get a house for myself

with bills and a phone

and all of my worries are my own

but that's still a dream

I'm only eighteen

and my parents might not live

to see me at thirty

 

My father's so distant

I'm his son and that's all

It's like trying to talk

at work on the line

where no one speaks english

and the thing I can't say

would break his failing heart

I love my girlfriend but

dear dad, I like boys too

he doesn't even understand

even as I am now

and though he always says

“I'm dying” for guilt

he's so easy to forget

and that's all I can do

acceptance comes hard

dear dad, when, if ever

can I come clean to you?

 

Still, at the end of the day

I wave him away

because I'm saving up

to get a house for myself

with bills and a phone

and all of my worries are my own

but that's still a dream

I'm only eighteen

and my parents might not live

to see twenty-nine

 

In parenting class I try

to learn to be the dad

my father never was

but he always tried to be there

since the divorce at five

I was the one who didn't see him

he fought in the courts and lost

with almost no child of his own

and no time left for another

 

and in my age, I see

what if he were me

now how I could I let that be?

 

I still see him four days

a month, at the most

 

and now that won't change

I work all the time

to keep the lights on

in a house that's not mine

with bills and some time

and the worries aren't mine alone

but still I dream

I'll soon be nineteen

and my parents will be

both over sixty

Author's Note

I'm curious what you think of the style of the poem

Reviews

[Miss Shea]

...I think you answered my questions early in a creative format...wow. It's different, and very direct, not what I'm used to reading from you, but I like it; it's nice to have a change.