i.

It’s ringing loud. I can’t keep up with it, it’s so coarse to my internal listening. A question, I don’t seem to want to face.
Why don’t I call my father?

Do you think he’s better off without you?
Is it awkward?
Do you hold a grudge against him?
Is he a dead beat?
Does he love you?
Do you love him?

Not a good father figure?
Is he around in your life?
Who raised you.

————————
Why don’t I call my father?
I don’t know, I’ve got no clue

No, it isn’t awkward.
Let’s not make this into no mopey hymn

No, he isn’t.
Is he dead?
Of what, from dread-?
Why are you like that?
Full-ness? Until I finally grew?
Does he love you?
Do you love him?
Out of it, stay out of it.
Was he ever in your life?
Life is short, so they say.
Not a good father figure?
How you figure?
Is he around in your life?
Who raised you.
Im sorry, but who’s asking who?

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