the monster's gone, he's on the run, and your daddy's here

i'm not a daddy's girl

nor am i a mommy's girl

i was just kinda there

nothing in between

nothing in everything

i don't think i care about it that much,

it, as in, a core memory every girl had with her father,

i don't mind that i don't have that much memory i could reminisce with my father,

but a sting of what he could've been and how he could be a better father like how he should've carved around my heart and brains and it bleeds like a rainfall.

i remember that my dad tucked me into bed

and stayed until i was totally asleep and then left

but i was all blurry like a steam burning my brain

and no matter how hard i'm trying to relive that moment in my mind 

i just can't

but it's not fair how much jealousy i have over the what ifs

and watching my friends growing up with such great dads

who would do anything for his daughter,

even when he doesn't feel like doing something,

even when he feels embarrassed,

even when it's the most stupidest, silliest thing to do,

it's for his daughter after all.

and mine isn't trying hard enough.

it's ironic, cruel, selfish that most of my core memories that i had,

that i vividly remember how it feels like, the air, the temperature,

the situation,  the touches, the clothes,

the dialogues, the conversations, the screams,

everything about it isn't something that i would like to cherish forever.

and something inside of me clicked,

i am broken,

and i plead guilty of participating in ruining a little girl's dream

of a hot, playful summer that ends with warm, joyful family dinner.

15th jan ‘23