Daughter,
Your 29th birthday,
How great.
I'm sorry for the text at midnight,
I just couldn't wait.
To tell you how proud I am,
How wonderful to see you grow,
To see you older and wiser,
And filled with such hope.
What are we doing?
Where are we going?
What time, what place?
Let's go, lets celebrate,
Go on stuff your face!
Oh shit.
It's ringing, the alarm in my ears.
Its May 27th,
It's 29 years from 1987,
And it's time to wake up.
Look.
Phone.
Grab.
Hope.
Wish.
Blank.
No messages.
No wishes.
No love you's, no kisses.
My father has forgotten,
It's my birthday.
It's as it was last year.
A heart break.
A tear.
Silly silly,
We did this again.
With hope in our hearts,
We deluded.
We fell.
It's worse this time,
You text in ahead,
"Hey daddy, hey daddy, don't forget, don't forget, I'm 29, I'm not dead,"
Well said Fran, well said.
Not desperate at all,
Not needy,
Not sad.
Oh no, I'm course he read that and thought,
Of course, it's my Fran!
I wouldn't forget,
The date my daughter was born,
My little girl,
My hope,
How could I forget it at all?
You are blonde again,
You've lost a little weight,
You've gone a little feminine,
You've got those trendy HD brows,
You've got love in your life,
And your something to make them proud.
How strange.
You've ticked boxes that were laid out.
Said sorry.
Made promises.
Stood by them.
Stood tall.
Accepted your mistakes,
Hell you've even taken the fall.
The rap.
The shit.
The hate.
The words.
Lost your family.
Your love.
Your entire world.
And what?
Now you wait,
Another day,
Another year,
For a silly text message,
Like it will set your world alight,
And pave the way for things to be right.
Silly Fran
Silly girl,
You will really never learn.
The bridges burned,
The tables turned,
And you are the demon,
Not the daughter,
Your some lying toxicity,
That can't be cleansed with holy water.
29.
Old enough to know.
It's done.
It's buried.
As they will be too.
And about that my Fran, little girl,
There is nothing you can do.
