I am angry because of my father.
Because he would come home
Wrinkled from work,
And slam the door so hard
the house would shiver.
I am angry because of my father.
Because his furrowed brow
Repeats itself in my Punnett square
And opens the curtains
On my forehead.
I am angry because of my father.
I can hold a grudge like it’s a hand.
I throw my watch on my nightstand.
I am a worthless smudge
On the floor, in the rug
In the kingdom of the almighty
God who will judge
Me as hard as She can,
’Causе I won’t love a man
Unless he is angry
Bеcause of my father.