A Really Good Story

I wrote a really good story when I was 18.

A father had a nightmare one sleepless night,

Of a frightened girl gone woman.

A woman who let be taken from her 

Her wisdom, with no return

Her nutrients, with no replenishment

Her temple, with no remorse

Her, prisoner, with no means of escape

He woke from this nightmare,

Palms drenched in guilt.

Guilt because on one sunny afternoon in the spring of ‘06

He had mistaken himself for desire.

He made the promise that she,

This beautifully fresh infant free of fright,

Would never fear the feud of a fatherless future.

It was a really good story, what I wrote when I was 18.

It was so good I almost believed it true.

It was so good I almost convinced myself that 

I was free of all blame.

That what had happened to me 

That what I had become

Was not a product of me, but the father who 

Had mistaken himself for desire.

It was a really good story, what I wrote when I was 18 

But it just wasn’t good enough.