Lost Connections

My Guidance teacher, Mr Bruton, has asked me to write a poem about "Connections" for a competition. I'm planning on writing it about my Dad. I haven't gone into great detail, but I disowned my "dad" last weekend. He sent both my sister and I a letter telling us it was my Mum's fault that the divorce happened, and that we only saw him for the money. I am afraid I can't call him my dad anymore and I won't anymore. I hate what has happened to my family, and the people I have had to lose because of it, but I can't live like this any longer. I would come home after our two hour meetings feeling ill and with migraines. I used to stay up half the night worrying about what I'd say to him, how I'd make conversation with him. I pushed myself to succeed - and yet he didn't even turn up to my Pushkin Prizegiving. He gave up on being a father a long time ago, and now I'm giving up on being his daughter. 

On a more positive note, I'M GOING TO MEET DEREK LANDY. Derek Landy is my all time favourite author - he writes the Skulduggery Pleasant books. I'm a bit of a sucker for a skeleton detective who can throw fireballs, I'm afraid... Anyway, he's coming to the Edinburgh Book Festival and I am SO excited - may actually start crying when I meet him.

That would be a bit weird though, wouldn't it?...

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Lost Connections

As we sit here,

between invisible world of glass,

I wonder how we became this way -
with manufactured questions
and replies.

Who are we?

Are we father and daughter,
or mere strangers,
who talk from time to time?
A Frankenstien creation

of what becomes of a relationship,

when it is left to wilter,

and to die.

I am but your broken play thing.
A china doll -
now only porcelain shards and glassy

emerald green eyes.
Do you think of me often,
or do you never speak of me at all?

Are you disappointed

of the child you never bothered

to love and care for?

Oh and yet you tell me you love me,

you say it all the time.

And when I must reply

an elastic band snaps around me -

metal hands break me.

I feel lost and never to be found. 

Because I do not love you, Dad,

I gave up on loving you,

along time ago.

Our connection is dead.

Static crackling down the line.

A letter sent, another to reply.

What is this mess?

What are these words?

They mean nothing -
just more pathetic, cowardly,
lies.

Do not tell me I never loved you.

That for me it was all about the money.

Our dying bonds are proof,

that there are two sides

to this twisted story.