When it comes to my father, there are countless contradictory statements to be made
On one hand he loves me out of obligation, I’m his eldest, survival of each of his trials and errors
On the other hand, he loves me, but hates who he sees when he looks at me
I look half like my mother, the woman he drunkenly beat and treated like trash, reminding him of his cruelty
On the other hand, I look like him, for whom he also has hatred, because of his inundating insecurities
On one hand, I’m too strong, I have always fought back even when cornered and drenched in fear
On the other hand, I’m too week for him, I have never actually fought back and stood up to him, much less to anyone else
His cruelty is contagious almost through osmosis while also being easy to physically reject as if rejecting an excorsism
On the one hand, I strive for him to love and accept me; on the other hand, his acceptance would signify that he finds me relatable
relatable like my siblings, who use and abuse cigarrettes and alcohol, who have children with no partners, who have less than a high school education
Relatable like speaking without any knowledge of grammar
Relatable, like dependent and neglectful and disorganized
Relatable.
Relatable, like I’ll never be
Like I never want to be
Relatable like loveable.
Loveable which he’ll never see.
On the one hand, I want him to love me
On the other, unrelatable is better, it’s just harder to be.
persistantlyhopeful 