Father,
Your eyes see me, but you are blind
To the pain around you
Is a smiling face easier to manufacture
Than a word for your daughter?
The tears from my eyes, the anguish in my voice,
Can’t possibly be from her.
She is your wife after all.
So you chose her, and not me.
Because you promised to love her, and to stand by her.
Does that mean you ignore the drink in her hand?
The anger in her eyes?
The hatred in her voice?
You chose her, and not me.
And you make that choice again every night.
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