Words Unspoken

Father may I, may I tell you that I'm grateful? Father may I, may I tell you that I'm thankful? And not for all the right reasons because you've wronged me, words like jagged talons from your lips remind me, I have been imprisoned by the visions of your perceptions, remind me, of my immeasurable imperfections, too ugly, too stupid. And your harsh ways are no longer lessons, but life plans, consumed by my soul and genetically encoded, I'm defected. I'm the spawn of wedlocked genitals and lustful actions perfected. And I try to remember childhood dreams because I'm at my childhood's end. Are we all just forgotten memories clinging on the particles of time, for Father Time's clock's made of steel and it won't bend. And Daddy I'm a big girl with big girl dreams Da Vinci paint me a picture, put me on a scheme. The, world is my greatest desire But you've shut me in and cut my vocal cords, silenced, I'm a one man empire stripped down to fabrics of my corduroys. Father may I, may I tell you that you're critical? Father may I, may I tell you, you've never called me beautiful? In more ways than countless you've established my existence as the ghostly presence of the unaborted daughter that took the placement of your wishes for a third son. I'm the constant reminder, brightly lit red Facebook notification that you're hateful words aren't enough so let's go back to round one. Your voice continuously resounds in my head, your taunting verbal attacks are the epitome of my weaknesses when contrasted to my strengths, there are none. I bleed my emotions on every sleeve that I wear, every thought that I hold, every breath I exhale because the silence is so deafening and I've tried division and subtraction but I'm always the outcome. Angry tears have become as infinite as grains of sand repressed words as heavy as the heart that holds them And I've recited many prayers for your condemnation. For everyone that asks, receives For everyone that seeks finds For everyone that knocks, a door shall be open And I'm crossing the river of Styx and my teardrops are my tokens. Father may I, may I tell you that you're hurtful? Father may I, may I tell you that you're frightful? Boomboxes are unable to box your vocal booms and when lightening strikes its the upcoming collision of your Hitlerian commandments and my failing servitude to let your poison sink into me, and erase the knowledge of what I've become And not let you define me by the mistakes that I've done. Father may I, will I, can I tell you that I love you? Because though you're enslaved by your own chains of darkness I've stepped into the light and locked our hands so we can fight this. You are the razor to strike me when I've flown too high, and the flames ignited to keep me from drowning and though these words are rarely spoken It's your thievery of my freedom that has let me express them. Father may I, may I tell you that I love you?