*a letter from a daughter to her bi-polar father*

DEAR FATHER,

SHOVEL BY SHOVEL,

BREATH BY BREATH,

I DIG A HOLE.

AS YOU TAKE YOUR LAST BREATH AWAY.

THIS IS NOT A COMMENCEMENT SPEECH

THIS IS YOUR EULOGY

EVERY, “LOOK HONEY IM BUYING THIS AIRPLANE”

EVERY, “LOOK HONEY WE’D SOON OWN THIS BRIDGE”

MADE ME BELIEVE IN A CHEMICAL IMBALANCE ILLUSION

EVERY LIE I CONSIDERED A TANGIBLE REALITY

shovel by shovel,

breath by breath.

i dig your hole.

as i take your last breath.

as i bury you alive.

as i choose to preserve memories of you.

as i choose to commemorate every manic episode you used to have,

every, “look honey, i’m buying this airplane”

every, “look honey, we’d soon buy this bridge”

my childhood consisted of glimpses of

trembling hands reaching for a waterfall mirage that never seemed to appear

this thirst for something greater;

a burning fire for eternal desires.

you have built the person i am.

an entrepreneur.

taking risks on my own accord.

but today,

as i learn all the hardships through you,

i’ve learnt to calculate every decision with exact precision,

how to filter my ideas,

how to not act on pure impulse.

today,

tonight,

i have decided that the least I can do,

As a daughter raised knowing that the sky has no limits,

is to bury you,

Alive.

to commemorate your living.