Dear Father,
I am sixteen now
I release you (myself) from your phone calls
Where you attempt to seem like a father
Five years from which you saw me last
Do the math. That’s eleven years old
Puberty hadn’t even set yet
But don’t hold your breath
Don’t even worry
(Two things in which I know for a fact that you will not do)
I became a beautiful person without you
Who can stand on their own two feet
Reciting words that you will never receive but will always know
You’ve forgotten that doors are not only for leaving
They’re for coming back as well.
It will never exist.
©αℓєנαи∂яσ
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