“I’ve had so many fathers that leave
and you’ll be another one, wait and see-”
something about a sack of potatoes,
She’s right that her wounds aren’t exposed for me to clean,
that her tears don’t fall for somebody to dry,
and that I’ll never see the way she saves herself
each and every day.
But she’ll never understand how
she might be wrong about me;
that helping a smile to bloom
is sometimes enough
to kick-start mine back up,
and that’s really all it is.
But she’s hardly ever wrong
and she just keeps talking