Father.

I’m more like my father than I will ever admit. Father, affection can’t be seen with a harsh tone; and yet that’s all I seem to know. No wonder my lover doesn’t understand why I show one thing and say something else.

I’ve only seen my father cry twice, and both times were hidden well. I’m more like my father than I care to know. My real tears don’t fall in front of anyone but myself.

When thoughts spiral and I’m stuck inside my own head, I’m more like my father than ever. We put up the same shield, hoping it’s strong enough to keep us in.