A Father, Not a Dad

A Father, Not a Dad

He remains a father.

Always a father.

But never a dad.

A man with my blood in him,

but not my life,

not my moments,

not the love that should have been.

And still he calls,

words soft and rehearsed,

but they cannot undo

the years of absence,

the weight of disappointment,

the ache of being invisible

to the one who should have held me first.