broken crayons

blue

i was twelve,
and i was nervous.

my first time on stage,
and obviously i was going to mess it up.

the ocean of people staring at me seemed like sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for me to make a mistake.
and then swallow me up in their laughter.

i was twelve
and i was shaking all over.

but obviously you were there.
sitting in the first row and clapping your heart out, as if your life depended on it.

and maybe, it did depend.
on me.

i'm sorry, at that time i was too preoccupied in thinking what my friends will say of you.

i'm sorry, i was too preoccupied to think how maybe you, like me,

were missing dad that day.
how maybe you were clapping twice as hard, and smiling twice as wide,

just to make up for the empty seat on your left.

how maybe,
just maybe,

through the smiles,
you were crying too.

i'm sorry i was too mad at you for screaming
"that's my daughter!"
a million times
to the crowd after i ended the poem.

i'm sorry i was too mad at you, i didn't talk for the rest of the day, but you didn't stop until you told everyone.

"that's my daughter."