Father (a poem)
Show me your scars, father.
Flaunt not your mastery, but the mess.
Paint me the truth of a world hard and odd;
And trust that I'll still do my best.
Let go of your fears of my ransom --
Of the world shackling up your sweet son.
I'll err, I'll learn, I'll laugh, and I'll cry.
I'll know when a battle is won.
Don't model for me some façade of perfection.
Its complexion grows uglier each year.
I just want the truth -- your love, and the truth.
Cut the pitch. Be a friend. Stay near.
Let's laugh at the crazy that makes life so hazy;
Let's admit who we are and not run.
As reality shows, our shared humanity grows.
I'm the heir to this mess -- I'm your son.