October 27th, 2020

No one tells you

how a newborn feels

when the weight of your entire life

rests in something that small.

They laid him on my chest—

skin to skin,

heartbeat to heartbeat.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Not from joy.

Not from awe.

But fear.

Because I knew then—

I was someone’s father.

And what if I failed him

like I failed myself?

What if my silence

felt like absence?

What if my voice,

too sharp one night,

sounded like rejection?

What if one day,

he looked at me

and saw someone

he had to forgive?

I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t whole.

But he didn’t care.

He curled his fingers into my skin

like he already knew

I belonged to him.

And for the first time,

I didn’t want to run.

I didn’t want to be

anywhere else.

He slept,

you slept,

the hospital lights hummed

like nothing had changed—

but everything had.

I whispered a promise

I didn’t have the language for:

You’ll never have to earn this.

You’ll never have to shrink.

You’ll never be asked to bleed

just to be loved.

You were born to be held.

And maybe I’ll mess this up.

Maybe I’ll fall short.

But I will never

make you wonder

if I chose you.

Because I do.

I did.

Every day.

Even when it breaks me.

Even when it costs me

everything else.

Read the Next Poem

2020: The Year I Became a Father