In the 3rd grade I fractured my collar bone. And my daddy gave me a call, not even a visit. I was 9.

That same year I bounced a basketball into my kitchen and caught hot oil over my back. My daddy gave me a call, not even a visit.

A call.
Filled with empty promises about when you’d see me next but if broken bones and burn scars couldn’t get you to come through I wonder what could.
Shit, not Christmas or even a birthday could drag you home.
Had me thinking damn, maybe if I do good in school and clean my room.

12 was the year. When I started to realize that you weren’t like other dads. I had at max a months worth of memories with you when others had lifetimes worth of being “daddy’s girl”

Straight A’s and church girl couldn’t make you proud.

because of you. My father. The man that was supposed to build the foundation that other men would eventually step onto.
because of you, there is no foundation
and that’s probably why he fell through

When he broke my heart you didn’t even call.
I couldn’t let him go. And it reminded me of the times where I swore that you loved me too.

I didn’t know how to let him go, dad. Because I was so used to holding onto you.

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