Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I’m not mad

 

I’m just tired.

 

Tired of my college savings burning away

despite getting up at four every summer day

to drive to a factory and work like a slave,

and spend my time dreaming of the warmth of my grave,

and breath slow,

while I learned about Stockholm Syndrome

because for 10 hours a day, a buzzsaw was my home

and my only human interaction was when Ron would scold me

for even daring to disagree

for having to pee

for being me.

 

God forbid.

 

I’m tired of my summer labor’s compensation

being only enough money to cover post-loan tuition

and the counselling sessions to treat the depression

that it gave me, that I chose to fight with suppression

because needing help meant taking precious time

from courses, from meetings, from working for every dime.

After all, the cost of college was mine—all mine.

Not yours.

Although FAFSA kept you in mind,

and the difference is for me to find.

But no, I swear it’s fine.

I’m fine.

 

I really am.

 

I’m fine because I’m aware most of this, you don’t know.

Because I’m your son, and you just want me to grow.

You taught me to save, work hard, and to go with the flow.

I want to see you’re proud of me but I’ve got nothing to show.

I’m trying!

Believe me, I’ve been doing my best for years.

Haven’t you always told me to face my fears?

Well I am, ‘cause goddammit, I’ll admit that I’m scared.

I don’t want to be a failure at the future I’ve declared.

But I won’t give up, I swear

I wouldn’t dare.

 

I couldn’t.

 

I’m fine because I’ve learned to take the hits.

Because one day I’ll go through something worse than this,

I’ll be forged by fate’s fire, I’ll be given a test,

and in the end, I know it’ll all be for the best.

I know it will!

No matter what’s thrown at me, I’ll make it through.

You told me this, and made me believe it was true.

So please don’t remind me of what I’m supposed to do!

I know it, too.

I do!

 

And I know you love me,

so please know I love you.

 

And again,

I’m not mad.

 

I’m just tired.

Sincerely,

Ryan,

the son you inspired.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741