what makes someone a father?
is it the nights of bruised knuckles and
forced faith?
the tears that spread from ear to ear,
bearing the words i could never speak.

avoiding his eye contact for i know
his shoulder is as cold as the
pity ice cream he got me
as an apology, instead of his words,

speaking in hushed tones between
mother and child,
the shouts between child and father
sunken swollen eyes speaking over my voice,
opinions put on mute

what makes someone a father?
a voice i can never reach
the tattoos i can never touch
one that is nothing but birthright,
a leniency paper speaking of
a promise that is forever broken

spending hours on how to earn,
how to win, a father’s love
late nights of him playing COD,
shouting and streams of joy from the screen,
the only time i’ve seen him smile.

an unwinnable gold trophy,
to be number one in my
father’s love,
all that’s won in this corrupted competition,
is a bronze participation trophy,
singed at the edges and smudged
with fingerprints at the bottom,
third to my siblings,
last to my parents

how do i win a father’s love?