Melting A Moody Machinist Poem by Belle Violet

You're so much more
than a machinist.
I think sometimes
you think
you're meaningless.
And I think you hold
your tongue
too much.
Because I think
you're convinced
it's more important to be tough.
Baby,
that's rubbish.
I hate that you're so stressed
and frazzled.
That you're endlessly baffled
by how stupid
your dad is.
I hate that you feel
like you're stuck
in a job you're so good at
but, all the while,
sucks.
I hate that a nice hot dinner
doesn't
cheer you up.
I do what I can, baby,
but, it's never enough.
I hate that you think it's a lost cause
to invest in those kids at work
talk to your dad
and sink in your claws.
I hate that you're hobbled
by low bids and misquotes
by your dad's inefficiency
and his distractible soul.
I hate that you
come home angry,
I hate that you vent
and it still doesn't shake
your anxiety.
That's a business
you should be
running.
Whether that means from the shop
or your own machines at home
humming.
I hate that your dad
doesn't have the guts to admit
his son has a much better head
for this business.
I want to take away your worry and pain.
I want your life
to be less draining.
I want you to feel like that money
you're making
isn't getting pissed down the drain
for someone else's taking.
I know how capable you are.
I know what you're capable of, because,
of your rugged, strong heart.
If I could, I would buy you a shop so big,
you could run thousands of jobs
and pick and choose
your employees.
I want to tell you
it isn't your fault
that your dad can't see
just how awesome
you are.
That I think
he's intimidated
by your smarts
But, I know,
most nights
the timing isn't right
I know you're tired,
and angry and stressed.
And I can't get up the courage
to wash away that feeling
by just listening and then
helping you get
undressed.
I want to suck all your worry away
put my mouth
around you
and
calm you.
But I'm so scared
you'll snap on me
or reject me.
That you're too tired
to worry
about sexy things.