the strained elbows

underneath the unforgiving debt

tremble with vigor—

a core memory of guilt.

yet, he does it for me,

for my future,

for everything selfless of him.

he does it for the gaping wounds beneath our soles;

he does it to afloat his entire world.

the white and blue porcelain teacups clash against one another,

picked up by pieces of a family that never crossed.

shaking with invigoration is the dainty hands of a young girl,

eager to be in the eyes of her father.

yet, shaking with fear and quivering with uncertainty,

as she picks up her teacup—wondering “is this okay?”

unforgiven is the little girl who lays awake,

wondering if she could ever repay her debt.

she lays awake with a profound depression

pressurizing her heart,

and she lays awake hoping

the stillness of the world would absolve her of guilt

when the clock struck half past ten—

the time her father’s thirteen hour shift ends.

one half’s crave to soothe the pain exacerbates demanding action;

yet, the other half cramps in pain and unable to stand for what’s right

without sacrificing herself—

a self created from her father’s sacrifices

and she wouldn’t dare to betray.

to rid of her father’s pain means betrayal

to the efforts he made all those years,

so she honors him through what he gave her:

education.

I will make you proud.

The memories, stories, and feelings from every perspective

of an unforgiven life has never been lost on me;

I will never forgive myself if I let myself disappoint

everything you’ve ever given me, Father.

I will make you proud, beyond all stars.