Tears respond to the down pull

of gravity. Paint the frames of your eyes

with invisible ink. Oh what love? What

promises? What hurtful lies? What

words can you offer when your actions speak

to me? Father father drop the attitude,

drop your harmful pride, drop your hurtful

hands and your untold lies.

I am painted. I am the hair that plaster across

both cheek, the wet eye lashes, legs that cannot stand

still. I carry broken nails, a bruised back, an incomplete

smile that waits for another tomorrow.

Father father I am a shattered mind

that sees no light.

Come to me with tender respect, and show

me how to use it. Dare I ask for tender

love? Not today.

For my eyes are already painted

with a stream of invisible ink.