I remember the smell of his beard.
I remember, the laughter, that always came with him.
Such memory will never make me smile.
Life is such a ruse.
My father was a man of love, but he beat my mother.
My father was born from wealth, but he died in the slums.
My father loved me, But there is nothing for him in me.
Monsters are born from injustice. Like me and him.
Today my mirror is my friend but her eyes are judgmental.
She comments on my weight, she keep saying I'm old.
She never smiles, but she's my friend, my only friend.
The pity in their eyes is what makes me burn.
I beg that they don't see it all. But they always saw,
Him, with his pitiful self.
I don't think it's hate that I feel.
I couldn't hate him.
I don't want to be the memory of an old drunk.
Why has life been so cruel?
I feel wary that I may turn into him.
This is all that I get.
Memories of the men who killed my mother.
An old rotten soul.
Who's predestined life make me despise my own existence.
It isn't fair, Why?
WHY did he have to suffer.
Why did he have to leave and take them all.
Me and my pitiful self.
I' am him.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem