You Don’t Need a Gun


You don't need a gun,
or a damn knife to kill me anymore,
not even the overdose I took a long time ago.
You don't need it. Today is the day calling you
"Dad" became a routine
instead of a privilege.
My heart
is the same way your kidneys are now,
burned
with its new raisin-in-the-sun outfit.
You've left me the same way many daddies have:
starving
for the love no one can give,
crying and hungry for daddy hugs.
You don't need a gun,
or a damn knife to kill me anymore,
not even the overdose I took a long time ago,
because my letters
of love weren't enough for you to care
when you sniffed your best friends:
cocaine and crack,
or enough to respect
the only woman I've kissed on the lips: Mother.
I bet this doesn't suck as much as your other women
in that hotel,
right?

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