In the recent years I have come to realize that I identified the scent of my father purely through the distinctive stench of his cigarettes.
When waiting for his unapologetically late arrival,I stumbled across a young woman
She reeked of American Spirits
The brand my father had been more loyal to than to his own family.
Her eyes and teeth matched with the all too familiar tinge of yellow.
They say eyes are the windows into the soul.
and my father is a prime example.
Piercing baby blue irises surrounded by a sickly yellow from year of poison
Most writers would rave of the symbolism
a pure child overcome by ill society they would say
but for me, those eyes were simply the eyes of a man who never watched over me
I’d like to excuse that fact with the date of my birth
only a few months between the death of my father’s twin sister and my mother’s father
Needless to say my parents spent their time six feet deep under their covers
ignoring the child they had brought into this world
although I can’t blame them.
I was a matter of unfortunate circumstances.
I grew up with a distant mother and a man I could only barely call my father
Nowadays, my mother complains about my issues that make her life ten times harder
“She has enough to deal with because of my brother” she says.
It seems I am the lesser problem that keeps my family from solving the first
I would say I am simply the product of unfortunate circumstance
but lately I come to realize that I am the unfortunate circumstance