This piece is about my late Father, a paranoid schizophrenic, and me, the one who could not break free from his words and the feelings of guilt I felt for him until I was 20.

A visible symbol of the reality of god,
the sacrament awaits a blessing from the priest.
Veiled and obedient, you take the Eucharist without question;
the closest you will get to god as an imperfect woman.
You sit down veiled, hidden, obedient, and controlled;
you must kneel beside Father as he whispers, ‘You are possessed’.
The veil hides the shame of what you know; you do not believe the words your Father speaks, and you do not believe the man at the altar.
The burden of knowledge and your quiet nature hide the truth inside;
Does your Father know you do not believe in his paranoia and lies?
You walk home beside your Father as you have done for so long.
Caged by your Father; no friends, no one to call, no home, no family.
The walls close in as he offers you a glass of milk and then speaks to you for six hours about your possession, secret government plots, and your mother.
You know no way to break free from this cage; there isn’t much left, and all you have is rage.
A burning fire to succeed, to be free of him, and to be free of his words and schizophrenia.
Luck finds you in the form of education.
You break free from his cage, only to discover it was never the man at
the altar you hated; it was the man who stood by your side: your Father.