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.