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letra de dad - whotfisricky

i don’t have issues with my father
not like all the other singers
talking bout baltimore and summer
and a beachside hometown fever
that just makes them to always stay away
from a wisened man saying words like remember those old days when kids went outside to play
my father’s not a bad man but he likes to speak his mind like all the snakes that bring us dinner when the lunchtime rushes die
and they’re cooking up deceit in their pans all oiled with lies
when my father makes great disaster at least it’s done with pride
he takes a knife to a board with a single piece of flesh
he carves it up so finely, picks out the bones that gently mar the dish
the blade is shining but a single speck of dust threatens to ruin it
by bearing all disappointment when i say i’m not doing it
i know he tries, and it’s wrong that i’m in a privileged enough position
to even suggest he might be wrong about the type of person i’ll become
i have a picture with a friend, a photograph in grey
he simple laughs and tells me i should look the other way
because she’s a barbie, a porcelain figure
who has much bigger goals in mind than ever
talking to a plebe like me in her well thought out future
i have a dream, but he doesn’t like it
and i see him always try to hide it how he wishes
i could have a been an engineer but i’m over here talking about
the weight that broke the camel’s back, but here’s the ugly catch
my backs not broken, i just dropped the straw i’m never looking back
and dad
i know i’m unfair
i know i’m judgy
i know i jump to conclusions, and yeah, i know i’m pushy
i know it’s wrong after all that i’ve given that i’ll complain because the person you envisioned me as, you’ll never see again and i don’t
want to split apart, like i’m a lonely island looking
for any trade route to connect me to the mother land
despite my brother’s happiness, and my mothers happy success
i feel the defining feature of me is my constant loneliness
because we talk, but it’s less of a conversation it’s a
chess game where it’s unclear which one of us is winning where
the goal isn’t a checkmate or to crown a working p-wn
it’s to get.the other one to say, yknow i’m wrong
but i love you. i’m just of all this pressure
i couldn’t tell you face to face so here’s an open letter
i wish i could follow something more structured like a pentameter
but when i want to speak with you, this trail of our of rhythm thoughts and all the baggage that i’ve brought and the trail to this conversation frought with troubles i’d long forgot, rambling is the only speech that matters

- whotfisricky

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