Fatherhood

 

it’s strange.

he’s got the warmest complexion –

tanned caramel undertones,

brown freckles sprinkled across his cheeks,

and straight black hair that lays flat against his head

instead of the brown waves that encase my own

 

i envy his eyes,

they’re hooded, and half-moon shaped,

swelling with innocence

so large and so doe-like –

still too deep-set with years of wrinkles to be mine

 

but he’s got a way with his words

the words that plead me to forgive him

for not being the man he once dreamed of being

for wanting to hold and squeeze me in his arms again

and wishing for a time when my own eyes could look up at him –

large, and doe-like, and overflowing with innocence

 

I’m sorry,

He’s sorry.

yet, he’s still a part of me

and somehow, I am a part of him.