I Don’t Think About You Anymore

I don’t think about you anymore, dad.

I remind myself not to. I tell myself:

You're not thinking about me

So when it storms & the rain pelts the windows,

I don't go stand on the porch to watch the clouds roll in anymore.

And when my car makes weird noises or I need to hang something on the wall, or I get lost driving or I don’t understand official documents,

I still know who to call.

And when your birthday comes around, I don't feel empty.

I don’t think that I missed your 50th.

And when you ignore my birthday, I don't cry at the end of the night.

I’m a big girl now, and I don’t need you anyway.

You never thought about me, so I don’t think about you.

And when I do something great, I don't think:

"he might finally be proud.”

And when I hear a joke you’d love I don’t think,

“I wish I could tell him.”

And all these moments we used to share, they’re long dead and buried.

And I don’t intend to resurrect them.

And even though our DNA is permanently woven together, that’s the only place we connect anymore.

So yeah, I don't think about you at all

a.j.t