Men are my weakness.
I feel it in my deepest of my emotions
That I need you,
But no, I don’t.
So I sit and see,
See where I’ve been and why
That you seem to be my resolution
To who I am.
Comfort of the soft couch cushion
Lied beneath me as I lay
And fell asleep.
Music of your band that blared in
My ears and I rested like a baby wrapped in 100% cotton.
Because you’re my dad and I look
Up to who you are to shape my life.
Now I talk,
And talk is cheap,
To these men that I feel can heal me
Of the revelry that you faced,
As you stared straight at a life predicament
Of following your dreams
Or flourishing a family.
It’s okay, I never understood
As I was the third child.
But I felt the vibrant hand you wielded
As you strummed your guitar.
Sitting tapping rhythms to your drum,
Your hand spun the stories I wanted to hear,
Fingers that picked at emotions that
I always wanted to know,
Because honesty was what I wanted.
But now I look again,
And it’s at the heart’s impulsive whim.
And I wonder when it ends.
Music is in my bloodstream
And I don’t know where it ends.
It’s a sickness of emotion I can’t understand.
I hear your voice sing through
The chords of my throat,
Because it never reached heights that it wanted,
And now I feel responsible.