Repeated Histories

It's been 10 months

and I cannot bring myself to forgive.

Call me my father's daughter,

steadfast in my ability to hold a grudge.

Call you your father's daughter,

equipped with venomous words

and no intention to apologize for them.

I cannot forget that night.

The world swayed for us both

thanks to the blue in the bottle.

Your anger manifests,

anger at the chains that shackle you.

Chains you could easily break

if only you spoke up

and held your ground.

But I don't say that.

Instead

I tell you what you want to hear.

I've become good at that, from never being asked about my life,

but always giving you advice for yours.

When you turn on me

I am not expecting the singular bullet

that flies from your mouth.

I am defenseless

as it lodges itself deep into my heart

and when I return home,

miles away from you

I can finally breathe again.

But the damage has been done.

My eyes have been opened

and I see you for who you truly are.

When my mother finds out,

she pleads with me

to be the bigger person.

"You are family," she says.

Our fathers are family,

And yet they have not spoken

for over 12 years.

Maybe it's because of this,

that my mother urges me to forgive.

But I am my father's daughter

Unable to let go.

And you are your father's daughter

Unable,

Or maybe even

Unwilling,

To apologize.