Friday, February 18, 2011

Dear Father,

I lie today.
You bought me up,
The best you could,
Shook off the poverty,
Your mother stood.
You gave me your wisdom,
So great and old!
It never burdened,
A youngish soul.
You made me your Frankenstein-
Did everything you said
Your mother denied. 

I lie today,
Caffeine high,
Warming my bed with melting ice. 

I am not simple because
I have read Europe and become it,
I think man can be questioned,
And that love doesn’t strike!

I am hoity-toity.

I want your three cell phones, and two laptops,
The expensive cognac that you never actually stopped;
An elite education on a rich, rich hill where
I eat meat and disco-hop to my fill with
Friends that you say made me perverse,
Their influence was stronger and worse.

I lied all the time,
Did what I wanted
Despite your discontent,
I was devious enough to
Give you my point of view,
And then defiant enough
To believe your concessions.

I have no scruples,
I was a child who couldn’t choose right from wrong,
I  am an adult who chooses wrong from right
Which is your word if I truly love
And respect you
Experienced soul exalted.

Dear Father,
I see today.
I know you’re blameless for my choice to be who I saw,
And understand that I must be Urja.
A breath of life and simplicity.

Parenting is providing,
You even socialized,
Violence is acceptable,
A means for a result.
Love is unconditional agreement,
No matter the cost.
Men are heavenly beings,
Whose gender-specific needs must be met.

And women are whores,
Who lie and manipulate.

I have hurt you by
Lying to you-
Saying I love you and then
Calling you a hypocrite who is
Not doing anything constructive and
Instead complaining and self-pitying
To give license to the need to strike.

I am not hurt to be called
A whore by you-
I know that you only say it
Because I am one and
You love me so much
That you make me aware enough to change it.

I am a slave to worldly attachments,
I know no truth or love,
I am only using you and do not
Actually care about you.
I only speak to you and write about
You and think of you because
It makes me feel less guilty-
After all,
I do not care enough to be indifferent.

You have allowed me so much!
What mercy!
I did what I was allowed-
How foolish and shallow
And uncaring of me.

I was supposed to be independent and
Cut a man’s balls off if need be,
But not to pick up friends
And go out with them
Or do anything that was not simple
And homely and good.

I’m such an atrocity-
I fight with you and shout at you
When you never raise your voice or
Become dramatic and despite all the
Money you give me- I am an ungrateful child,
Who does not appreciate your wonderful provisions.
I even push you to extremes,
Where you want to break tables
Or my bones to shut me up.

I don’t love you at all,
How can that be when I ask you
To let me be me?
If I did then it wouldn’t matter because
My Father, Dear Father,
Sacrifices must be made for love.

I lie today,
I have chosen a path.
Never to attempt to prove to
You my worth,
Or let my insecurities turn me
Awry or mad or difficult,
To believe in love and
Not to remember your words
Like you remember your mother’s
I see that you have had a
Terrible, horrible childhood and
Must be in a lot of pain,
I forgive you without offering myself
That escape.

I am not lying just now.
You are a wonderful, good person
Who is a little hurt.
I have hurt you more in spite of myself.
You have done your best as a father,
And I my worst as a daughter,
The best you knew with
What you were given.
The best I knew with
All that you gave.

You gave me enough to see that
I must not be trapped by what I have and
Instead be responsible and mature,
To not let myself be weak and wounded and complain
About anything, instead move forward and do things
For real reasons.

I have nothing to hold you responsible for,
Just the good I attribute to your example
Because even what seems to hurt
Only hurts until you decide to stop reopening the wound.
18 years is all I know and it is too long to
Tell the same story.
I implore myself to see the beautiful and not the gory.

Khushboo Shah

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