I’m Not Calling You Papa Anymore

I think it started with my grandfather

Maybe earlier than that, as

My mother says his mother may have had

An illness similar to mine

You see, my grandfather 

Seems to hold so much resentment for her

Maybe it was just the taboo schizophrenia 

Maybe it was the lack of communication 

Maybe it was the emotional absence 

But I don't blame her for her illness,

I blame my grandfather

For carrying that resentment, even now

And imposing it on the lives of 

His own children

And their children

I understand now how he must have felt

Having a mother who didn't feel like a mother

But more like an empty shell, a ticking time bomb

You have to tiptoe around, lest you

Set it off and have to heal from it later

The difference between he and I, though

Is that I can see this

I can trace back every single one of my insecurities 

Every thought pattern, every eggshell walked upon,

Back to him

That insatiable need for validation 

The passive-agression that's flooded my brain

Since before I knew I could build a dam

The way the word insecurity is enough 

To tear that wound right back open

Isn't it ironic- how the most helpless of feelings

Can create the most powerful of monsters

Fear and power will usually get him what he wants, but, at what cost?

Everything he thinks he's gaining

Really, he's losing

No one wants to be in a transactional relationship 

No one wants to be around someone who

Makes it feel obligatory

Family is the ultimate factor

So long as they don't realize that they're puppets on strings

Controlled by a mastermind who

Can't even seem to understand how

Holding strings and blades in the same hand

Can sever them

Because when these strings snap, he blames the puppets

You see, I've inherited these torn and broken strings

I've watched them be passed from child 

To child, always somehow ending up 

In worse condition than the last generation 

Left them

They may be beyond repair and

They may not seem useful to me

Yet, they are- these fragile, broken scraps

Can hold more than a puppet's weight

If you tie them all together

All of these insecurities, all of this trauma

Everything I have carried with me 

From the backs and shoulders of the women before me-

It all becomes less heavy 

When I lift myself with their strings

My grandfather says his mother was afraid of the world

As if him saying that erases the pattern 

Of women that he's taught to do the same

All it takes to start them on that path is

Make them afraid of you

My grandfather says pray, and leave it to god 

You see, if I believed god was responsible for this

I'd thank him

For only scattering these ailments and hardships on my mother

And her sisters

Because, I think my grandfather wants to believe 

That god gives his toughest battles 

To his strongest soldiers

And for that, I am honored-

Thank god I got the brunt of it all

God must have given it all to me

All at once, in this one heart

Because he knew I'd be the only one brave enough 

To address it, to heal from it

I am not a puppet

Nor am I the mastermind 

I am that piece in between- I am the string

Made from the scraps of the women before me

Carrying them and

Giving them new life

My bloodline will no longer be tainted

By the fears and faults of the father

I will not live with resentment or spite-

I know my mother did the best she could with what she learned 

Even if what she learned taught me to resent

My grandfather says I should be sorry

As if my illness is something to be hidden

I will not apologize for being myself even if

Myself is someone he grew up to hate

I hope he feels her when he looks at me

And recognizes that I will not be afraid

I will not pray

I will not be sorry 

I am the daughter he never could have handled 

And when I die, his curse dies with me