His backbone curves
the same way truth does when
he bends it.
His ribcage, rotated,
turns his heart on its head.
Bukowski once said hopeful wings
were the reason for
shoulder blades to protrude,
but I believe
my father’s skin is simply trying
to hold his horns in.

My father has scoliosis.
But he never broke his spine
the way he broke his promises.

This was posted 1 year ago and has 400 notes.

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