Blood

My mother is my best friend.
She's got daisies in her eyes and you should really see her dance.
She spent her childhood standing still for only two years at a time.
A military brat, she was uprooted and uprooted until she dug her roots into the sky.
But then in her minimum wage high school job,
A waitress at Burger King,
Her eyes locked on a stoned cashier.
My father.
Three years later, that youthful gaze became a youthful marriage.
My father cleaned up to take to the skies for the Air Force,
But then he didn't make it.
With my brother and I, mouths wide open waiting for him to carry his weight,
He and my mother dug deep roots in the desert.
My father found a high paying office job where he couldn't take to the skies himself.
He was in charge of monitoring the grand satellites he'd built do it without him.
My mother taught pre-school.
Spent her days wiping other children's snot only to come home to her own snotty children.
And her own jaded husband.
My father grew sicker,
But I never noticed.
And suddenly, I was an adult.
I was following my dreams.
And my mother followed suit.
She quit her job to do what she'd always dreamed of,
She took to the sky.
A flight attendant, she could do everything she does best.
Take care of others, and go on adventures.
And she did, and she still does.
But my father still simply monitors the skies,
Never soaring himself.
Getting sicker every day.
His blood is angry.
Angry for the abuse his father laid upon him.
Angry for the madness that seeps into his veins.
Angry for the failure of his aspirations.
Angry at his inspiring wife for succeeding where he was defeated.
Angry at his successful son for finding a passion and getting paid for it.
Angry at his independent daughter for choosing not to let his crimes against her go unnoticed.
Angry at her the most.