I Don’t Hate my Father. I Just Don’t Know Him by Lamar Neal

Almost seven months to this day,

I saw my father for the last time,

And no, he has not met his demise

but he is quite the ghost to me.

He left when I was just a child

Yearning to make sense of the world,

And yes, my spirit warped by the day:

Anger,

Denial,

Resentment,

Bargaining,

Forgiveness.

Indifference.

Somehow, I’m breathing.

I’m alive now.

Free from a life willed by the hug of a father,

The embraces he visibly now desires

From a boy,

who never learned how to be his son.

He yearns for so much

But blood doesn't negate our unfamiliarity.

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Lamar Neal [he/him/they] is a breaded-hair author of three poetry collections and one novel. His poetry has been featured a few publications. When he’s not writing, he’s playing video games, window shopping online, or going down the rabbit hole that is YouTube. Twitter: @ghostcharades