My Daughter

To my little girl,
I’m no father to you, and one day you’ll know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see you grow inside your first home. I didn’t get to hold you after your first breath. I was too busy selling coke and smoking meth. I wanted to be there, but I caused your mom too much stress. I wasn’t good, and I surely didn’t try my best. Your mom loved me once, and I made her hate me. I thought it’d be best if you never knew who I was. Not then, not now, not ever. You can hate me all you want; it’s probably for the better. You can’t hate me as much as I hate myself because I’m the one who remembers. I broke myself and I broke you too, trying to protect you, I became an offender. An unlikely way to break the cycle; I’m an addict who never wanted to meet you because I wasn’t ready to clean up my act. I’m a selfish prick. Reference my poems; I’m a little more than just a little fucked up. Your mom did you right. When she found out, she sent me away and kept her mouth shut. Three months later, she told me because she wanted me to know, and you can love me or hate me for letting you go. I wish you the world, and I want you to be happy. I want you to know that you were better without me. You’ll look at your brothers and wonder why your daddy treats you different. It was my fault for choosing addiction. You’re almost two years old as I write this, I’m sorry for the life that I missed.