Why, dad?

one dumb day i wandered all blue and bad
into a hotel room and found my dad
sitting on a silver couch
where he told me he was sad.

he didn't seem to be a dick
or a downright nasty little prick
but he beat me roughly as a kid
and i thought that was sick.

I never meant to be looking back
at his youthful compassion lack
but it's still a painful hurt
to imagine his attack.

i once was tossed into a bedroom wall
where i hit hard and took a fall
and his foot landed in my ribs
real hard and made me bawl.

but the physical pain was not as tough
as the lack of love and that was rough
especially when i tried to stand
to tell him trembling i'd had enough.

then it must have been the booze and life
which created in him unbearable strife
so that justification
for the day he used a knife.

but now he's been dead these dozen years
and still my eyes strange they fill with tears
because he never once apologized
so life is not exactly as it appears.

maybe you too have walked upon these shards of glass
and wondered how long that nick would last
when you're with people bright and fair
it's easier then to forget that past

but it's there.