San Francisco, CA.
As a child I remember sleeping at night,
With pillows hugged close as I trembled in fright.
Not of the monsters huddled in the dark,
Not of the ghosts, the vampires, or the werewolves bark.
I wasn't even afraid of the infamous "Boogieman",
One thing I do remember and hope you'll understand,
Is this fear of a crimson butterfly and a wavering hand.
As I explain, I hope you'll listen to this,
There is a deep, dark secret, I beg you won't miss.
You see, each night I'd walk in the kitchen to ask for a kiss,
And while Mother would hold me tight, Father would just hiss.
He'd say, "Don't ask me for kisses or pats on the back.
Don't ask me to build your dreams, or hopes that you lack.
Instead leave me in peace and stand on your own,
For my blood is cold and my heart is of stone."
Being young as I was, I didn't comprehend,
That on this so-called "Father" of mine, I couldn't depend.
Now, it wasn't the lack of support or the anger he'd expend,
Rather the lack of a father and the lack of a friend.
(Look for Part 2 tomorrow)