Pretty face, Baby girl, Milk and Cigarettes

You loved the idea of me. You loved a version of me. You loved a prototype of a woman, but when that woman became empty, you ran. You lied to me. You said you would always love me and that I will never leave you again. You wore somewhat honest. You didn’t just leave me, you hurt me. You see all I ever wanted was for you to see me. I felt invisible to you for so long. You wanted this girl who I was never meant to be. You wanted me to be blonde, beautiful, highly sexual, normal-looking, emotionally available just for you, and understanding of your needs. I was never enough for you. You love what people think of you. I wanted to know you. I beg for an ounce of love from you and when I overflowed your cup with my love. I wanted to be seen as more than just a pretty face. I was in awe of you and yet I was a mere ghost to you. I knew that loving you would be difficult but I could never love you. I was never in love with you because I didn’t know how to love a man. I was glad you jumped in bed with another because I could allow myself to be vulnerable with myself.

I would cry your name when I scraped my knee at 8 years old. I would ask my mom if you would show up to my games and she would say “he’s busy sweety, but I’m sure he would love to be here”. I would ask where you were at birthdays, holidays, and family dinners. I felt so empty and confused. I didn’t know why you only showed up when it was convenient. I didn’t understand why you only called once a month. I didn’t know why you allowed your wife to call me and my mom names. I didn’t understand why you would take away the phone when I was crying myself to sleep every night and wanting to call my mommy. I didn’t understand why you would say “my other daughter is my angel”. I didn’t understand why you weren’t there to comfort me when the love of my life died. I never understood why you would always say I miss you, baby girl. I ran back to you at 21 years old, because you said you had a heart attack. I honestly wasn’t expecting you to make it, and I don’t know how I would’ve felt either way. When I saw you laying on that hospital bed and you seemed just as fine as ever, I knew why you did all those things. I knew you felt guilty over the years you missed. I knew you didn’t know me anymore or did you ever? I saw the life you had with your mistress and the misery in your eyes. I saw all the choices you made, catch up to you. I saw your demons and the consequences of carrying them with you. I felt sorry for your life. I also realized I never needed you in mine. And yet I still wonder, did you ever pick up the milk and cigarettes?