I met my father in another world,
when he was a child,
he tells me growing up he wasn’t allowed to cry,
he tells me sometimes the world hurts him,
and he doesn’t know what to do with all that grim.

So I offered him a hug, told him it’s safe to shed tears,
And there, he wept until his soul felt clear.
Then, we spoke about things, things unimportant,
and shared a heartfelt laugh, shared life stories, and its graft.

I pondered, is it true that hurt people hurt people?
If his childhood would have been different,
Would he have been a different man, fair and square?
Could our laughter and bond in the world that looked true,
Have painted my childhood in a different hue?

In this other world, everything looked very bright,
Yet, I found my father’s hidden sorrows, which he was hiding with all his might.
But who am I to know what could truly have been,
It’s just an idea in my head, of my father always being there for me.
I sound harsh, I know.
It’s not that he has done nothing for me,
but you see, human nature, to always ask for,
how more loving he should have been.

In forgiveness, I hope to find a healing grace,
Understanding the burdens he carried, in his space.
Papa, for your wounds and possibly heavy heart,
I release you, forgive myself and you, for life has given us our parts.