Group Chat

One parent misrepresents,
is excommunicated,
the other rushes into space,
has to fill you in,
and send you on your way
I've absorbed it as
light work,
taken for granted,
a fine polished sword,
sinking into the
soft flesh of life's work.
It's brutal, but it
does the job.
I don't know what
kind of parent I want
to be yet,
people say I'm kind,
though I'm heavy with
doubt,
forcing me into a v
here as I sit.
What would my child read first,
my posture,
my silence,
or my tolerance?