From blood to blood

He calls me seldom. I call him dad. I'm blown away after I receive a missed phone call from my dad. Its not like him to call me for any reason. Being his child never seems good or warranted. So I stop expecting. And continue hurting. But quietly and to myself. I never say these things when in his presence. He's not made of steel to hear that his child, his daughter or whatever it is I am to him is in pain; inflicted by him. There are reasons people keep stuff to themselves. There are reasons children don't tell their parents everything. I know from this point of view as to why. What I don't get is why parents don't tell their children why their sibling is better than them, or why they are not their personal favorite but show this decision through actions instead. I never want to be a parent if these are the rules. I am made of raw flesh, red beating raw flesh. The kind that bruises easily if handled incorrectly. Dad never seems to pay attention to this bit of me. Instead he calls. And I choose not to pick up. Or return the favor as he kindly asked of me in his voice message. I think he mentioned something about checking in to see how I was doing. I'm not. Doing that is. So I don't tell him. And continue to fall apart from the bone. But quietly and to myself. He cares seldom. I call him nothing.