Friday, April 08, 2005


Am I filled
with the same father-stuff
as he:
coarse and cold
and hard?

If so,
let me rip apart
my seams,
tear out my insides,
drain all my blood
onto the floor,
until I am but
a shell.
Then, let me
find some new,
white, soft,
warm and close.

Will I love
my child
the way he loved me:
distant, cold,

When I become
a father (my father?)
please let me
find some new father-stuff.


Cassandra said...

I love it!

Just the fact that you are asking these questions already means you are "warm and close".

We can love our parents for who they are (even in their shortcomings), but we don't have to be them.

Here's to celebrating our freedom to be unique and discovering new stuff in general...


the_soulless said...

oh, i do like the sequence held by the second stanza.

you will be all right, adrian. do not fret. this poem shows your conviction...