my father’s voice still lingers in my mouth
a sharp, metallic echo
something that stings like jack and regret

he taught me how to numb,
how to hold the body still
as the world keeps pushing it
pushing me to be
more than i could ever be
without disappearing.

he taught me to take that shit and swallow
the promised peace
the numbed space between this brick wall
and the afterlife

sorry i couldn’t show up for thanksgiving
sorry i showed up but couldn’t stay
couldn’t keep my hands steady
long enough to feel present
sorry i spat in the mashed potatoes before i left.

sorry i whispered i love you
while swallowing a handful
of nothing that could replace
the spaces between us
they were supposed to fix it—
me, y’know.

but now the slow crawl of dread
that old-timey, quiet panic ensues
the one that always comes with silence

heed the call of my father’s breath
cracker jacks and big league chew
or a hard pill
what a fucking joke

to escape in a manner that feels more
unsafe than the staying.

i am scattered across corners inside bodies
a body i do not recognize
a body unlike his and morphing
uncanny

ashes to the wind
to the girl i was
the soft places to hide
the boy i tried to become
the names i still cannot say without bile coaxing my vernacular

better to swallow than have it just sit there.

here’s the thing about those white dots upon your tongue
when the world feels like it’s collapsing in on you,
when it seems like all you’ve ever been is a problem,
your father’s lover won’t fix you

they just make you small enough
to pretend you’ve got it together
for a little while
for a few hours

you can make yourself believe
that you’re whole
but when your body wakes up
and realizes it still aches
the promises still unravel

you want a better story, fine
i’ll tell it
but i don’t know how to give it to you
without the permission and the pills making the world so hush hush

and i can’t figure out how to be without the chiming of the bells and whistles of a man
i can’t figure out how to breathe
without something in my mouth

fine, i’ll tell it
it’s the way I keep showing up anyway

for all your sorry asses
the way i wake up every morning
with my hands still shaking
and keep swallowing
even though i know it doesn’t help

it’s the way i refuse to disappear completely
even when the world tells me
that’s all you’re worth.

but fuck worthy
fuck orange bottles
and the pharmacist glare
my ass is still here
for the taking, maybe
but here nonetheless

breathing, hard
but breathing nonetheless

even if i don’t remember
how to keep the pieces together
i’m still here.

and if that’s not enough for now
then i truly have become
my greedy-ass father.