Father told me I had no problems –
didn’t even know what problems were,
so I tucked away grief, pretended,
mastered the art of suppression –
what did I matter, after all?

Failed to grasp the underlying message –
ignored the extent of his personal pain,
translated indifference into selfish agendas,
set up walls to protect myself, against him,
projecting rejection onto others.

Too late now, I understand, hurt for the
distance created by misunderstandings,
recognize with deep sorrow that our timing
was out of rhythm – society unable to fathom
the secrets that we held – unnecessary burdens

Wonder if I will ever unravel the deceit,
unwrap the loss of self, the shame, recover
a sense of self-worth that allows for acceptance
of problems without self-reproach, or guilt;
will gain the capacity for far-reaching forgiveness.




Published by


Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

9 thoughts on “Tangled”

  1. I read your first poem ..then second and now I’m not able to stop. you write amazing poems. keep up. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hmmm…I just reread your poem and realised I misinterpreted it first time around – Doh! I’m usually not so dim. Ignore my last comment lol. Great poem, but more inward looking that out, as I first assumed. I really have to slow down when I read stuff… 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Great poem,VJ! I have the same issue with my father (who’s still alive) and I get the impression the situation won’t change. I think we spend far too much time building walls when we should be pulling them down. But before you know it, it’s too late, and guilt and regret are all that’s left. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.