Your eyebrows pinch together
when you're angry.
I always ask: "Are you angry?"
And you say no.
You always say no.
Maybe, instead, you're frustrated
because you always dream too big.
At least, that's what you say.
But you care enough to aspire
towards the things you never could get.
I'm conservative, in the bad way,
and your eyebrows pinch together.
But, you're not angry.
You're never angry.
You nod and say "it's fine."
I wish you would say it wasn't.
Sometimes, you lie,
but you've never stopped working,
running towards something.
I suppose they are your big dreams
that are always disappointing
but somehow rewarding
as I step in your footprints
and watch you paint with your fingers.
You said you weren't an artist,
and you hate things that are soft.
You've never been anything but.
You loved your grandfather,
and he said the same thing,
that he wasn't a soft person,
but he was always kind to you.
You're just like him.
I think you need to realize:
Dad, dreams are art too.