I love my dad—   
Unconventional and quiet, yet strong at the core,   
Gave me everything I have, and so much more.   
Cold as stone, sharp as a tack,   
Came from nothing, and never looked back.   
Taught me the weight of a pound in my hand,   
How to stand tall, n how to be a man.     
I love my dad—   
First time he'll probably hear me say something like that.   
Not that it's untrue, our bond's just different from what you'd read on the can.   
He taught me how to run, to laugh, and to grow,   
To be better than those fools with guns—though it didn't always show.     
So when he said, let's go for a pint,   
I shrugged, said I don't mind.   
But what I really meant was no.   
What I really meant was—   
I didn't wanna bump into friends on their way home from a show,   
Didn't wanna hear their jokes the next day in school,   
Didn't wanna be that guy, but he's my dad—why am I tryna act too cool?   
I wasn't the type to go for a pint,   
Not one for small talk—at least not with my dad at that time.   
But he knew what I said, what I meant,   
So the door he'd closed—never to open again.     
Then off to uni I went, without a goodbye.   
You always assume you'll see your parents one last time—     
Then came the call.  The kind that lingers in future conversations,   
The kind that rewrites your expectations.   
People nod, pretend they understand,   
While you Google the meds they've put in his hands—   
Side effects, life expectancies, everything grim.   
And they tell you to breathe, to stop panicking,   
Say it'll be fine—   
But you've been through this too many times   
To believe in a well-written lie.     
So you end the call and tell yourself it's alright,   
Because how else do you make it through the night?   
Bottle on the table, questions in your mind—   
Why us again?  Does it even matter?   
They say God gives his hardest battles to his strongest men.   
Then why do I feel so weak?   
Why has it been months without sleep?   
Why do nightmares replace my dreams?     
Will this ever pass?   
Will I ever sit unbothered in psychology class?   
Will I stop plugging my ears when they talk about stress,  
 When they mention bypass, when they whisper death?     
I hope I will.  I hope one day my memories don't haunt me so much.   
I hope one day I get to say—how about lunch?   
But luck has never been kind to us.   
Throat cancer steals the joy from afternoon teas,  
 From my mother's makeshift brunch.   
So instead, we pin our hopes on drugs,   
Hope they hush the fights,   
Hope they let me sleep at night.   
Hope they take me back to a time   
When pain was just a metaphor in things I'd write.    
Maybe one day, in another life,   
I'll turn around and say—   
Yeah, Dad. I'll go for that pint.