My dad smokes.
For years, I would get so frustrated at his immutable addiction.
My yells, piercing daggers that haphazardly
flick into the cramped space.
Each shard of my heart splinters under the tension
while still managing to crack into tinier and tinier pieces.
And soon, nothing, except the echoed
shadows of my shattered pain.
My embarrassment also went to such an extent
that he was my only secret I kept from my friends.
My anger ran so deep in my veins that no matter how many
furious waves would wallop in my body, they would never be close
to purifying the rage out of my diseased blood.
But I never realized
that he still is my dad no matter what he does
that I love him more than anything
that I would give up world peace just to hear his booming laughter
that even broken glass can refract light and will turn plain surfaces into rainbow.
I never realized until poetry allowed me to reflect on
the fractured world around me.