There's a reason this poem doesn't have a rhyme,

It doesn't have a beat,

Make you tap your feet,

Sure a couple of words will fit,

But when I'm talking about you... how can it work?

How can I talk about someone who's a object to me?

With a beat, a rhyme, and a harmony?

I remember sprinting down the street,

In my freezing bare feet

My new replacement dad was standing there-you.

But you are no replacement,

I know I'll never get him back,

An I could do with a fatherly figure in my life,

But all you've given me is pain,

Bruises that heal,

When I think back through life,

Millions of images flash through my mind,

Like the first time I tied my shoelaces,

Or the first time I rode a bike,

I cherish these images,

The good, the bad,

But when a image of you run through a my head,

I don't even feel it, it's like I'm watching somebody else's thoughts,

You mean nothing,

I've realized that recently,

I don't care anymore,

I can't look you directly in the eye,

You're an object,

No less than an object,

You're a spec of dust,

You are real,

I know,

I'm not saying you're not,

Sure you have blood, lungs, a brain... all things that I have,

But they are all just jumbled together,

With no purpose,

You're just there,

A supporting system,

That's supporting nothing,

Because there's nothing to you,

You're just an object,

Who can hit very hard...