Bulletproof

Are humans supposed to look like that?

Like they are unraveling. Like getting out bed as a daily struggle. Like their hope had run out. Like they have nothing left here but all they have is here. Like they don't have a reason anymore. Like they haven't slept in days. Like they're just waiting. Like it's not worth trying anymore.

When did you start to look like that dad?

Was it when you got sick,

or was it when the sickness started winning?

Do you think you have any fight left?

What happened the sparkle that used to inhabit your eyes?

Or that smile that no one could take off your face?

Or that hearty laugh that made everyone laugh along?

Are they dying off with you?

Should I remember you like this, tired and growing old? Or should I remember you as I like to see you, happy and younger than you seem?

I'm not sure if your dying or not physically,

but I can see your soul being defeated. 

I'll never comprehend how something like that made someone like you so fragile.

You may be glass now daddy, but I'll always see you as bulletproof.