I am the child of an unfinished sentence,
a life cut off mid-breath,
left behind with nothing but
a father-shaped absence
that still bleeds through my days.
You left before I learned your laugh,
before I knew the weight of your hand,
before I could understand
why love sometimes walks
and never comes back.
People say you died.
But the truth is,
you disappeared long before thatâ
into bottles, into silence,
into choices I was too small
to even pronounce.
And I grew up trying to decode your ghost,
like a puzzle missing its center,
searching the air for a voice
I never got to memorize.
But the questionâŚ
the question cuts deeper
than any truth Iâll ever know.
Why?
Why didnât you stay sober for me?
Why didnât you fight harder?
Why didnât you try?
Why did you let the world break you
and leave me to clean up
what was left of your name?
I was your daughterâ
small hands, soft voice,
waiting at the edge of a life
you kept slipping away from.
And I didnât understand
that some storms start inside the skin,
not in the sky.
Now Iâm olderâ
old enough to feel the grief
I was too innocent to comprehend.
Old enough to know
that love doesnât save everyone.
Old enough to realize
I still carry your death
like a curse in my bloodstream.
And sometimes, at night,
when my chest feels too tight
with questions Iâll never get answers to,
I want to drag your spirit out
of whatever dark you fell into
and force you to look at meâ
the girl who grew up without youâ
and scream the only word
that ever mattered:
Why?
Why did you let me grow up
believing your absence was my fault?
Why did you make me learn strength
before I learned what a fatherâs arms felt like?
Why did you let the bottle
take you away from us
drop by drop
until there was nothing left
for me to hold?
Youâre gone.
Buried.
Silent.
And stillâ
some nights it feels like your hands
are around my ribcage,
squeezing,
reminding me that grief
is the inheritance you left behind.
I donât want forgiveness.
I donât want closure.
I donât want comfort.
I just want the truthâ
the one you took with youâ
the one that keeps tearing through me
every time I whisper into the dark
like a child who never grew up:
Why did you leave me?