Dear Kyle,
“I just want to get my feet wet.” She said, dipping her toes in.
Water wasn’t too warm that day, neither was it frigid or frozen.
I could live for this moment, I could have kids with this woman,
until she tried to kill me on a couch for spilling a drink on the cushion.
She was frantic, “That sofa cost me four hundred dollars!
I should drown you in the abyss of the roughest waters.”
I told her the stain would come out, and to stop freaking out.
She told me to “shut the fuck up, it’s time for you to be bleeding now.”
Even in love, you can’t hide from what gets under your skin.
You can’t always help or fix what’s wrong in a flutter of wings.
You can’t paint over a situation, so what would make you think
that you could drown the world’s patience? It’s too late to sink.
Come out into the world my son, it’s been awaiting you.
Misplace the cues of shaded blues that erase your mood.
Street art is fine as long as you’re involved in architecture.
As long as you’re a vandal, there will be no intercessor.
I write you this letter as a request to stop the tagging,
the world is not your canvas, it’s just a box we’re trapped in.
If a city blacked out, there still wouldn’t be hiding places.
We’ll find you either way, see through your disguises and faces.
Many generations before you take pride in what they’ve built.
If you can’t appreciate it, let your mind climb uphill.
Why? I respect my surroundings and I will uphold the law.
Your rise to greatness is seen, but one thing’s left untold; the fall.
I’ll patrol the mall until I see your ugly mug again
rummaging through the dark, just know jail is your punishment.
I’m tired of driving to work and seeing your mess all over.
I enjoy what’s natural, not your edits sketched in boulders.
You are my son, what if I catch you in the act of this?
I can’t just let you go and write it off as some sort of accident.
There’s a reason I became a cop, whether you see it or not.
Stop hiding, being a vandal is just a weakness unlocked.
I been there, I was a kid once trying to have fun with some friends.
We got into bad shit too, we thought it would never end.
I hope this gives you inspiration to make more wise, future actions.
Because the track you’re on is slim and you’re losing traction.
Hope is all you could ever ask for, and it’s all you’ll ever get.
Your dream boat has a tie to it’s anchor, you just need to sever it.
…With Love, Your Dad.