he grew vines in his back,
just so i could climb them;
so i could pick a resting place
on his shoulders,
and look at the world,
he admits he did not provide for me.
he's turned his backbone to titanium,
so i could have a staring contest
with the moon,
and dip my fingers in the sun.
he kept me in the clouds and the stars
for as long as i could hold on,
even though he couldn't
see the beauty in what i was looking at.
he's planted his feet in the
mud of misadventure,
so he could give me the world
i couldn't see without him.
he would let me stand on his hands;
arms outstretched,
for as long as my knees wouldn't buckle,
if it meant i could see another layer of the
universe that wasn't even meant for me.
no, he did not provide me with a
galaxy of unborn, and dying things,
yet he stayed behind,
while he pushed me into one;
into something he knew he
couldn't get me back from.
he wanted more for me than having
vines in my back,
and memories on my soulders.
he wanted me to see the ongoing
for as long as i wouldn't miss him,
and he stayed behind
to look at a wall of old pictures of me;
the one he gave his world to.