Daddy Issues

He asks me if I'm unhappy.
In the moment all I can do is offer a sideways smile, and look him dead in the eye as I lie to him.
No. I'm not unhappy, Dad.
Lies I have had to tell my father. In order:
Yes. I'm glad you're going to meet your grandchildren.
Yes. I am glad you are in town
Yes. You are welcome into my home.
No. I'm ok.
No. I'm just stressed out.
Yes. Let's have dinner there.
No. I'm not in a hurry
Yes I'm fine
Yes everything's ok
I love you, dad.
I love you dad
I love you dad.
I am the girl who has daddy issues.
I never was the girl who never met my father
Never was the girl who's father died at a young age,
But the caveat to those two statements is
I wish I didn't know who he was, so I didn't have to go through the grieving process every time he decided to not be here.
I used to love him.
I used to live my life
Based on his approval
What little girl doesn't want to hear
Her daddy say he's proud of her?
I can count on one hand the times my father said those words to me.
I can also count how many times he told me that:
I reminded him of my mother.
I drink too much.
I was damaged goods because I was too independent
I didn't know how to be his kid
I wasn't a good person because of my sexuality
I wasn't a good person because
I invite drama into my life
I was a terrible daughter because I thought for myself
And why wasn't I a better wife to my ex husband.
And why wasn't I a better woman because a better woman would have stayed married to someone she couldn't trust and birthed babies
And why wasn't I a better woman because a better woman would know how to cook
And why couldn't  you just make the right decisions
The whole six years I refused to speak to you because you were no longer a human being in my eyes, Jessica?
My father
Is never the catalyst.
My father wrote his own story to read:
"I did a great job raising my two kids, but they didn't understand me and blamed me for everything. "
He wrote my story and titled it "Jessica Renee: The child I raised to blame"
And he wrote my brothers story:
"Matthew James, or how my greatest legacy is a fuck up."
It had been eight years since I had seen him,
And when I saw him standing in that hotel lobby I stood taller than I have ever stood.
Because now.
Now I recognize
He doesn't get to write my story.

Happy Thoughts.

As I stood there, on the balcony, with my arms outstretched,
staring at the second star to the right I wondered, can I fly?
As a child I used to climb as high as I could on top of my father's bookshelves, just to jump off,
He'd always be angry with me.
You see,
I believed I could fly.
It has been seventeen years since Peter entered my life and whisked me away to Neverland.
I taught Peter and the lost boys how to take care of themselves,
you see, I was their mother.
But that wasn't what I really wanted.
What I wanted was to be
Young and wild and free forever.
I wanted to tease pirates and
Play with mermaids
And learn to dance
With Tiger Lilly.
I wanted to be in between the place of sleep and dreams,
With a boy who loved me forever
But not as his mother.
I loved Peter.
I loved him in the only way a thirteen year old girl knows how to love a fourteen year old boy,
Unconditionally.
See I taught Peter to sew his shadow back to his feet
But he never taught me how to
Lose mine
Nevertheless,
I fell in love
With the boy who never wanted to grow up
But the boy who never wanted to grow up never
Fell in love with the girl who never wanted to grow up
He fell in love with me.
His Mother.
He never understood that I never wanted this.
I never wanted to grow up
I never wanted these feelings
I never wanted
To be a mother in
Never Never Land
I wanted
To love him.
The simple boy who's idea
Of a kiss was a thimble
And who
Understood
The word forever.
I realized
He would never need me the way I needed him.
We would never grow up and marry,
Have children,
So I left.
I came home.
I grew up.
But I was never satisfied with my new life.
I married,
And had daughters.
Peter came for them because instead of
Growing into the man I knew he could become
He stayed young.
Always seeking a mother like me,
A mother like his mother.
I never stopped loving Peter,
I never
Stopped thinking happy thoughts
But I'll be honest as I'm standing here,
On top of this balcony railing
I'm starting to really question
If I can still fly.
My arms are outstretched toward the second star to the right
And I'm staring
Straight on til morning
But I'm growing tired.
The poison I drank for you, Peter,
The poison that made me fall asleep,
I felt no pain.
All I feel now
Is pain.
The pain
Of losing my
Childhood
The pain of losing you.
Peter, if you're listening,
Are you listening?
Do we ever really grow up?
Are you crying?
Boy, why are you crying?