Sat, 07/27/2013 - 07:16 -- Evi



Man, your ass is late again?

Not passionate about anything but being mad at him,

Up till he passed on. Your dads gone…

That man, he was my grandpa.


And he liked to write too.

The worse thing for me would be to end up just like you.

Who are you talking to anyway?

Every day, you find a way

To break away from madness.

Cracking beers to mask the tears.

Your hate replaces with sadness.

And Haley plays with matches just to burn away the fire.

My face is like my fathers and it looks just like a liar.

So as the mirrors turn black, it’s crystal clear what I have.

A family passed disease. I’m so uneasy I can’t stand.

If bad luck comes in threes, well then, I hope that I’m the last.

So that my children may be freed

Of the disease that was my dad’s.



This is so relatable to me just reading it brought my dads image to mind. Though he is driven as hell the problems with him are similar. But i am constantly told to have some compassion and understanding towards him for he is my father.. Though i don't agree with what he does and i can't really connect the words father with his name verbally i do understand why he does what he does and he isn't so bad. Try to have some understanding for yours as well and if you don't want to be liek him learn from him what not to do. Who you are is set by no one except you.

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741