I Carry You With Me, Everywhere. 

I carry you with me, everywhere. 

The lines of my hands resemble yours. 

The wrinkles beginning to form on my face bear a time when you used to smile.

I see you in my crooked nose; 

it looks a lot like your integrity.

These types of recognitions stun me on the daily. 

How I look so much like a man I never wanted to be? 

My own reflection holds a tension of what I most love and how I hate you. Yes, my self-contempt holds hands with my glory. 

It is you, Dad, who taught me this, a seemingly impossible task.

How to bear much splendor and yet to hate yourself so deeply. 

I carry you with me, everywhere. 

I see you in my bare chest. It’s big and full. It even has its own nickname, I call it “The Judge”. 

What do you call yours?  

I hear you in my laughter, mine is honest and deep from my belly 

like yours used to be.

My love for the arts, theater, poetry, public speaking, academics, watching sports are all yours, but 

I will not take your addictions, 

I will not take your lies, 

I will not take your isolation and desperation, 

I will not take your legacy. 

I carry you with me, everywhere.

Today, I stand here similar, 

yet an oh-so-different man. 

I am my father’s son, yet 

I am not my father.