East Fork:

A Journal of the Arts​​



You hurt your daughter
You stole from your daughter
You lied to your daughter
But I always told myself it was the disorder
You hurt your son
You stole from your son
You lied to your son
But he always told himself it was the disorder
Was it really the disorder though, dad?

Everytime we came to visit, you would make a comment
“You only come for the tv, you don’t love me”
And everytime, I would say
“Stop, of course we love you”
But maybe it was a false love
A love I felt like I had an obligation to give you
Like I still needed to take care of you

But not anymore
You crossed a line
A line I can never forgive
And this time I won’t blame the disorder
You knew what you were doing
So stop asking me what you did wrong
Stop messaging me every single day
Move on with your life
Because guess what
I already have