You say it’s all my fault,
casting aside blame like a poncho 
draped only around yourself.
You blame him too,
because of course its his fault.

He’s the one that stole 
your precious baby girl.
The one you left to think that 
everybody had a daddy that was never around.

I’ve smiled and nodded my way 
through eight years of hell.
Nine hours a week with
crossed of calender pages 
and tally marks. 

Only two years
five months
and twenty-eight days
until I never have to see your face again.
Trust me, I’m counting.

You picked a year old fight today.
You said some things
that made me glad you didn’t notice
I painted my nails for pride.
Always the devil’s advocate,

But who wants to side with the devil?
Certainly not the good catholic man,
Who goes to church every Sunday
and left his family for seven years
No, it’s the daughter who likes to dye her hair and kiss girls.

You call me a liar and immoral.
I weep silently in the backseat.
You yell at me as I shrink back in fear?
I say nothing.
and try to think of what I can do to please you.

Have you ever thought,
that maybe,
just maybe,
that I’m too damn tired for this?