Father of my Mother 2

Dear Grandfather:

The father of my mother, the man who haunts my dreams.

You're the man who still taunts me to this very day.

Your raspy voice, your beady brown eyes,

the shine from the top of your head and that Judas kiss you place upon my cheek.

I remember it all.

Each memory horrifying. Each one worse than the other.

I loathe you to an extent, and I hate myself for it.

I should not hate, I’m too young for that.

Despite that knowledge, it made its root In the very core of my being.

It’s stemmed, It’s engraved in my heart,

And the only one to blame is you.

No one but you.

Your voice is bitter, you’re childish.

The words that come from your mouth are harmful.

You don't act your age.

Nonetheless, no one utters a word to contradict you,

Your word is law.You're the father of my mother.

My grandpa, the one that taught me to hate,

Why do you have so much control over me?I say you don’t, but you do.

Why do I give you my time?I think about your words,

the memories that involve you swirl around my head.

Why can't I just let go?I want you to love me like you love my brothers.

Am I still holding onto to that childish wish?

I amm...and that will forever make me a fool.

You're the very demon I run from.

The demon in my head who plants the self-doubt, I hear now and then.

At the age of seven, I began to hate myself.

At the age of ten, I hated you with a growing passion.

At the age of sixteen, You made me wish my mere existence did not exist.

At the age of seventeen, I received a scholarship

One that brought praise from all but you.

Instead, you scowled and said, It could be better.

You insulted my father and my mother.

Yet your hate was directed my father's way,

I am my father’s daughter. So in the end,

I rose my voice.

And yours fell into a soft murmur.

Before you once more raised your voice

Your eyes showed your rage, your anger made itself known,

The spit the flew through the air. Brought the memories of your blows forth.

I flinched. LIke always you showed me who was stronger.

Yet in the end, your words became the very thing

that led to my success,

the burning passion that rose to prove you wrong grew

in the end, the very demon you became,

Became the very thing you did not want.

It became my own weapon.

I will succeed to prove you wrong. To prove that I will always be my father’s daughter,

And that the father of my mother was wrong.

I’ll never forgive you. Not now and not in the next lifetime.

Forever and always,

Monica