Papa

Salmon and trout, all be out.
And make sure they’re not after.
Have a drink boy, grow up quick boy.
Be just like your father.
Ignore all change, forget to hope.
Learn to live with racist jokes.
Walk the line, sharp as whisky.
Make sure you’re dead before you’re sixty.
Why are you crying?
What’s the problem here?
Can’t you see I’m lying.
Can’t you see I’m lost in fear.
Man up boy, shake off those feelings.
Take on the challenge of dirty dealings.
Respect me, fear me, and do so silently.
And grow up hating every part of me.

Blood is thicker

The red lights blur inside my skin.
Casting reflection on the mood I’m in.
A soured feeling of discontent.
The angry ebb of self-descent.
Yet neon blood flows inside my veins.
A pumping pressure which starts to gain.
Which travels north from my deep south.
And splatters the truth from out my mouth.
Though shock is not my best intention.
Nor pain or hurt, out from this invention.
But to boldly state from strength and love.
That the only thing we share is blood.