when my father discovered my tattoo

I expected anger.
I wish I would have received it.
Once you saw the ink on my back,
I covered my head,
awaiting your waves of rage,
prepared to hug my knees to my chest
and let this tsunami wash over me
like I have so many times before.

But it never came.

Instead, you looked at me,
eyes more tired than sad,
and the weight of your disappoint
filled my blood with lead.
My heart sunk like an anchor dropped
off the side of the ship that was
our relationship,
gunned full speed ahead
it lies listless in the sea,
both of us hurt and confused
as to why we are no longer moving.

My first thought was to apologize,
but I'm not sorry and you know
I don't mean it.
So we just stand and stare
caught in a stalemate of love
unable to speak, the silence aches for us.

You used to call me your favourite daughter,
and I would sigh sadly
because the daughter you knew
was like a tree pruned to perfection.
You couldn't stand to watch me grow.
And after I left home,
I lived the life I felt I was allowed to;
I got wings tattooed upon my back
to prove I could fly.

But around you,
I hide my wings,
the same way you hide your sorrow
because I can never live with you
and be myself,
and you would love me more
if I was someone else.

The End

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