A father I don't want to hug.

I'm hesitant,
because here we sit so calmly
at half past ten o'clock,
after tending to a useless fire
and watching Christmas cartoons -
it's inevitable
that my heart will take a fall.

It's been years
since we've talked
about religion and wars.
You finally admitted that Islam
is peace, that Muslims shouldn't
be labeled terrorists,
that maybe your heart wasn't
as callous as I once thought.

You acknowledged the 235
innocent lives were taken while
praying at a mosque, and you
made no sly accusations.
I hadn't prepared myself for this.

I've always seen you as a militant
Catholic, proud in the sense that
you have one true religion,
proving to others you have privilege
in knowing what you defined as truth.
But tonight,
you complimented denominations,
you said many had grace,
that we praise and celebrate
a higher power who unites us all.

Then why, why does my heart
burn at the edges?
Why can you suddenly be this
open-minded, mourning those of
another belief,
accepting me for no longer practicing your faith,
yet staying silent about the queerness in me.

Why are you allowed to pick and choose
what verses of me to accept?
What scripture is sacred and disposable?
Why do you act like you know my
feelings of attraction better than me?
Why would you ever not trust
that I need to follow my heart?

I'm too hurt to revisit this with you
any time soon, so I'll just let these
words smolder, the fight will fade
out of them soon.

One day, I might fall in love with her.
And I won't be calling you up on the phone.
I won't be sharing the news with you,
"Oh Daddy, I met someone incredible,
she's brought light into my world."

No, the phone will not be ringing
and angels won't be singing.
But I'll be alright,
because I have no more room
to be betrayed, and I won't let you
demand me to play the part of a fool

-

This was a freewrite. Also, warning: any conversation we have in real life is fair game for a poem.