To the man who calls himself the grandfather

I am sure I have not known,

The one whose spite and greed

Robbed us of all that did not matter,

Escaped empty-handed,

Still, leaving us with less than what we had.

The one who then

Wrapped up everything he stole,

Presented them to us —

Such generous gifts.

To the man who demands a respect from me

That I do not have to give:

I lost it long ago.

To the man who uses manipulation and verbal abuse

To control anything —

And everything —

He could ever hope to enjoy,

Because he would rather push it away,

Shattering it to pieces

Like the memories they contained,

Than admit that someone outside of himself

Has the capacity of satisfying

Such pretentious and unattainable expectations.

The man whom I

Cannot bear to look in the eye

Only out of relentless obligation

Can neither bring myself to hate.

The man whom I resent

With the entirety of my being

For being an antagonistic mentor

Of hypocrisy

Wrath

And greed.

The man who reduces my grandmother

To tears and too much anxiety medication

From years of neglect

Belittlement

Oppression.

Who insults and intimidates my mother

And harvests shame and inadequacy

And takes advantage of the one person

Trying so desperately hard to forgive him.

Who teaches lesson to us —

The seven children left regrettably as his grandkids —

That our worth is measured

In what amount of money he chooses

To give us this year

For Christmas.

Who is so saturated with conceit

From being self-absorbed for so long

That the concept of humanity

He can blatantly disregard

Without the slightest sense of remorse.

To the man I regret to have known at all.

I can only hope that you are sick,

Because I cannot imagine how anyone could

Think or behave or act the way you do,

How anyone could possible say

Those things that you say.

You are oblivious and incognizant,

Too ignorant of morality,

Incapable of empathy,

Inexperienced with love

To even deserve a role with such honor,

A title with such responsibility,

To ever earn the opportunity

To exploit and pervert such an impressionable position.

To the man who knows this insufficiency

And recognizes the animosity

And bitterness felt for him,

But is so damn egotistical

That he can justify

All the anxiety

Pain,

And anger he causes.

Preservation of his prized self esteem

Takes priority

Over providing for

Respecting,

Having some level of concern

For those around him.

He does not possess a need for others,

No need for relationships he knows —

We all know — He’ll destroy.

So he must be pompous and arrogant

So that he at least won’t lose himself.

There would then be

No one left

To care.

More than anything,

I pity you

And everyone else suffering

This same miserable and pathetic existence

Of isolation and detachment

To which you have damned yourself.

I mourn for you

For never knowing genuine endearment,

The comfort of a sincere embrace,

Or the opportunity to accept and receive

Complete and unconditional admiration,

Affection,

And belonging.

I grieve over being depraved of knowing

The true love of a grandfather.

I lament never knowing

What that would have meant to me,

What that relationship would look like,

Feel like, Be like,

I may not know what characterizes a grandfather,

You certainly have not shown me,

But I know well enough to acknowledge

That you epitomize what does not,

That you are unworthy of being called “Papaw.”

That to me, you are no such thing.

How can I ever consider you my grandfather?

I hardly consider you a man.