This poem is for my father. The only person in the world that when he speaks
I crave someone would just sledgehammer in my brain in an audacious attempt at quietude
from the man that rambles tangentially about my shortcomings until I leave him.
Can you hear me?
Did you hear what I said?
Are you even aware that I am speaking?
Is the hum between your ears too much noise to hear
that I am telling you just how I feel
or do you simply not care
There are times when you speak that I would sell
my soul to the actual devil
in the hopes that he could stop you from speaking.
What need do I have for a soul?
When I can’t even feel it
because the pressure from your speech
renders me invariably worthless.
In the end, I’m begging, for the love of God and in the name of all that is holy,
please just this once –
and in your silence let me feel golden.
I love my dad. I just wish he could control the urge to tell me about how wrong I do things all the time. I’m resolved there will be no resolutions with him. All I want is for him to shut up sometimes. Is that so wrong?