sehnsucht.

long ago i tried to diminish the importance of bloodlines.
it reached the point where if anyone mentioned my father,
i'd shrug my shoulders.
you see, growing up, i used to keep myself so soft,
all clean and shiny, in hopes i'd be worthy of his love.
i thought good grades and staying out of trouble would be… enough.
i thought a daughter's love would be enough.
enough to cure his depressions, his addictions.
but of course it wasn't. that's not how it works.
i'd get love from him, occasionally,
but it came in bits and pieces,
through phone calls every now and then on the off-chance he was sober.
oh how my heart would jump at every phone call
only to break every time he stood me up.
for me, heartbreak became habitual.
ay, pero tu papa esta enfermo, fefa tells me,
and on some level i understand that.
but i am also aware that his life has always been
too privileged, too comfortable,
so he has no real reason
not to live out my grandparents' last days in their basement.
asking him to put someone else first
is simply asking for too much.
i've grown past wanting the type of father
who will play catch with me in the yard,
or who will have an awkward talk with me before my first date.
i became soft and clean and shiny,
a woman worthy of my own love.
but sometimes,
i grow tired,
because i wish he didn't make me have to fight everyday
just to prove his blood wrong.