I cried at my grandfather’s funeral, mourning not for the loss of life, but for precious memories that were never formed and infinitely severed ties between myself and my history

Now, a grown product of a man with different baby mommas, who 30 years later still blames our disconnect on, baby momma drama

Toward him I really desired to feel hate, I looked for it behind every broken promise, every unreplied text or ignored call, sometimes I wish to have never loved him at all

To find like many others, solace in, ‘I can’t miss what I never really had,’ but instead of having just a father, I wanted a dad

To him I forgave for walking away to claim kids that he did not even experience the pleasure of creating while leaving my heart begging, praying and waiting for a love that should have been rightfully mine, an act summed up as another waste of time

What’s greater, the intensity of love or the bondage of hate? Or to create a child with no desire to participate?

As roots take place and grow, becoming one day un-remorsed and unable to be controlled a vicious cycle- only imagining the unknown

Based on the physics of a present reality, creating in the mind a possibility, a might have been, or a maybe,

I could be the descendant of a slave or perhaps from the line of a builder of the Panama Canal

But some things I’ve resolved to never know