guitar pick

I spoke to my Dad last night

While he dressed the salad with balsamic vinegar

And salted the schnitzels how my Mum likes them.

She was home late last night,

Picked up at around 10:30 by my Dad,

While I held myself tight in bed.

I talked to my dad

Over the kitchen counter.

He had a tea-towel thrown over his shoulder.

I didn't 'come out' or anything

That's still... in the works.

But the way that he spoke,

It struck at least a couple of heartstrings

To see in his eyes how he cares.

The chilled persona, the nonchalant questions

Gotta go with your heart, isn't that what they say?

There's no deep-rooted fear

No hand on the wheel

I'm the one steering my boat

And he accepts how I feel.

If

But

Maybe

I do choose to change,

There is no forced perspective or criticism

How you feel is okay.

Damn, I didn't realise

How much this month can cost

Coming out can be dangerous

To realise you aren't enough...

But the peace of heart to just speak

And say what you think

Without the background threat

Of being told to stay bleak

That is really just right for me.

~