I got a message on Facebook from my birthfather the other day
Well, a few—
More of a missive than a DM

Thick enough it’d take at least two stamps 
to mail from San Pedro to Boston.
But you can’t fit a lifetime of catching up in an envelope

Hey Tiger Eyes,
he started, before the first guidance he ever gave me:
I got advice: don’t do drugs, but if you do, don’t tell anybody.

“Don’t ever tell anybody, anything,” I thought to myself,
picturing my father as an aging Holden Caulfield. 
“If you do, you start missing everybody.” 

Well, I already missed everybody
so what’s the harm in telling?
The truth is nobody’s listening

He wasn’t thinking about bodies catching bodies, though
He had love on his mind
Maybe it’s the same thing, at the end of the day

I went to cash a check, he told me, and I went on a journey instead
That shows that love ain’t real
it’s just a word

He was clearly feeling sentimental because the conversation then turned to my mother

To me, she’s always been evil, he reminisced. 
I can only say that when I got with her, I did love her.
And so you were made with love. Genuine love.

But she’s the devil.

But isn’t love just a word?
Only when it comes from the devil’s mouth, I guess.
Or an addict’s.

It’s important that you know your history, he continued.

I stayed with her for the last two weeks of her pregnancy 
So you wouldn’t have cocaine in your system
So you’d be born drug free
She was a tough one to keep away from drugs.

Tougher than he thought, I guess.

He was deep in the memories now
Out of his depth, even

It was sad
but it was probably good you didn’t get raised by us
especially her.

I’ll tell you the truth, I’m no better 
we both failed
we both lost our pot of gold

It was her who sold you, though
I had nothing to do with it.
That dude forked over some money for you.
When she got the money, I didn’t see her again until it was gone.

Naïve as it may be, I believed him. 
I don’t know why. 

… yes I do.
I needed to believe that shit
That at least one of those two people who made me wasn’t evil.
I needed to believe that I could be good.
That I had inherited more than just the devil.

He seemed, somehow, to know what I needed:

I thought about how you must see us, me and her, he went on.
Shit. You saw both of us basically fighting to stay alive.

I’ve been lost since that overdose
but it’s no excuse.
I don’t mean to be a bad person. 
I just don’t get along with people much. 

I can’t fault him for that.

You might be ashamed of me a little…
because I’ve been a drug addict all my life.
Hey, it wouldn’t be fair to you 
if I pretend to be someone I’m not.

I’m still recovering from that night
the one that brought you back into my life
Please don’t hate me.

I didn’t.

I’m never doing drugs again. 
You don’t know how hard I’ve been trying to remember my password 
so I could talk to you. 

I can wait.

I didn’t want to do heroin.
I’m drug free now. 
Still mindless, but grateful. 

Me too.

I didn’t want to do heroin.
I’m drug free now. 
And I could use a good person to talk to.

Could I be that good person, though?

I didn’t answer him that night
I meant to, but I accidentally got high instead

The next morning, I woke up to the following:

Well, that’s enough thinking for tonight. All I know is weed always makes me smile. I did three years in prison for cultivation of marijuana. Three little pot plants. Crazy how the system works. Now I’m sitting in my car smoking a joint with a big smile on my face. Life is good again.