There is a phrase that I come across, every once in a while....
"sins of my father."
I sometimes wonder, is that why I am like this?
Am I paying penance for the sins of my father?
Lord knows that he paved his road with his sins,
and I saw them nearly every damn day of my life,
until his life ended.
And even after that, I still remembered them.
My life isn’t everything that other folks have…
if there is a way to make whatever I try to do,
however the day could go, but doesn’t,
then I end the day when I lay my head to my pillow,
wondering why it went that way,
rather than how it seems it would for others.
Sins of my father?
Who the hell knows?
I never will know,
but it is something to wonder about.
My dear sainted aunt used to tell me
that there was no way that anything
I ever thought of or wanted or planned –
no way in hell
that it would go that way,
that it would work out nice.
Just no damn way.
I used to think she was crazy,
saying that,
but she was right.
And Lord, I wish she wasn’t.
I’ve learned,
over so much time,
not to expect what I’d like to expect —
it just aint’ gonna happen that way.
That kind of life was never meant for me.
Hurts like hell,
and I wish I could just get used to that….
could learn to accept it that way.
But it just freakin’ hurts…
too much.
Too damn much.
From when I can remember back to
until now, or until whenever…
it has never been any different.
I don’t know why I keep wanting it to be.

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