The first time I heard the phrase
“Who’s your daddy?”
Because my young mind lives in my sexually abused body
I knew it wasn’t just an innocent query about who my father was.
As a young child who never really got to play pretend
With anybody but myself
I mastered the art of locking my skin in a bedroom
And conjuring my own playmates.
I remember the first time my dad left
To work in a place far enough for me not to reach him
I didn’t know that it was also the last time
That everything in my life was going to feel
Like how every little girl’s life should be
When I look back now,
I remember one post card from my dad
Wherein he told me to not be hard-headed
But mostly I remember moving to a new bed space with my mum
And sleeping on the floor, some nights without dinner
Some nights with my mum trying to not let me hear her crying.
I knew that I had nothing compared to my rich fair-skinned friends
And sometimes I asked God, why.
I was a small, petite girl who shouldn’t feel comfortable
having curse words buried beneath her tongue
But ended up the most badass out of their group
When she knew how to say ******* to every boy
Who teased her for having curly noodle hair and dark skin.

The next time I heard the phrase
“Who’s your daddy?”
I tried so hard to picture him smiling
But end up with the image of his new wife, with his new child
Smiling as if I never existed,
As if the part of his life that included us
Was just a manuscript that never got published.
As if I was a useless prologue to the actual novel
As if I was a vase of ashes of the daughter I used to be.

Now, when I hear the phrase
“Who’s your daddy?”
I try to reflect the question back into empty hollows of my belly
I try to look for the answer amongst the dust left
when my father ran away from me.
Stop asking me who or where my father is
Because I have no ******* idea
I try so hard to remember being an innocent little girl in her daddy’s arms
But all I get is the post card of him telling me to not be hard headed
But daddy, this is how you raised me!
No, scratch that this was how the streets raised me
Because you were never there.
Hard head and hard heart matching with thick skin
Maybe this is why I am so comfortable with hurting myself
Because if I can be hurt by my own father
Abused my own uncle
Left by all of the men in my life
And still live
Then why can’t I do it myself?
This is why no one can tell me that it is not in a woman’s blood
To be in the position of a man
Because my mother was able to transform into a father
Without a script yet the play the part so well.
So after all these years,
You have the nerve to message me on Facebook
Saying “I’m sorry, my child”
I try to surface goodness in my heart
But you have melted everything into a puddle of blood
That empties through my wrists
So now I am telling you
That I am letting you go
because you have no child here.

She

I'm waiting for the man I hope to wed.
I've never seen him - that's the funny part.
I promised I would wear a rose of red,
Pinned on my coat above my fluttered heart,
So that he'd know me - a precaution wise,
Because I wrote him I was twenty-three,
And Oh such heaps and heaps of silly lies. . .
So when we meet what will he think of me?

It's funny, but it has its sorry side;
I put an advert. in the evening Press:
"A lonely maiden fain would be a bride."
Oh it was shameless of me, I confess.
But I am thirty-nine and in despair,
Wanting a home and children ere too late,
And I forget I'm no more young and fair -
I'll hide my rose and run...No, no, I'll wait.

An hour has passed and I am waiting still.
I ought to feel relieved, but I'm so sad.
I would have liked to see him, just to thrill,
And sigh and say: "There goes my lovely lad!
My one romance!" Ah, Life's malign mishap!
"Garcon, a cafè creme." I'll stay till nine. . .
The cafè's empty, just an oldish chap
Who's sitting at the table next to mine. . .

He

I'm waiting for the girl I mean to wed.
She was to come at eight and now it's nine.
She'd pin upon her coat a rose of red,
And I would wear a marguerite in mine.
No sign of her I see...It's true my eyes
Need stronger glasses than the ones I wear,
But Oh I feel my heart would recognize
Her face without the rose - she is so fair.

Ah! what deceivers are we aging men!
What vanity keeps youthful hope aglow!
Poor girl! I sent a photo taken when
I was a student, twenty years ago.
(Hers is so Springlike, Oh so blossom sweet!)
How she will shudder when she sees me now!
I think I'd better hide that marguerite -
How can I age and ugliness avow?

She does not come. It's after nine o'clock.
What fools we fogeys are! I'll try to laugh;
(Garcon, you might bring me another bock)
Falling in love, just from a photograph.
Well, that's the end. I'll go home and forget,
Then realizing I am over ripe
I'll throw away this silly cigarette
And philosophically light my pipe.

* * * * *

The waiter brought the coffee and the beer,
And there they sat, so woe-begone a pair,
And seemed to think: "Why do we linger here?"
When suddenly they turned, to start and stare.
She spied a marguerite, he glimpsed a rose;
Their eyes were joined and in a flash they knew. . .
The sleepy waiter saw, when time to close,
The sweet romance of those deceiving two,
Whose lips were joined, their hearts, their future too.

It hurts when we hold hands
I can feel the coldness in your stem
It's the source of your emotionless pattern
Your leafs pulled from past handlers
Your thorns ***** me like the ***** you called me
Hoping I'll let go
But I only tighten my grip
Even if I have to endure the pain
Afraid of losing your scent
The sweet smell of precious nectar  
I've memorized it
The feel of your petals
The beauty in your color
I douse you in love to keep you alive
I want to fuel you like the sun
I want to be the reason you bloom in spring
But the more I invest, the quicker you wilt
You dying in my hands

We talk,
We know.
We kiss,
We love.

(Complications)

She walks away,
I fall apart.
I get together,
She starts to doubt.

She falls apart,
I'm far away.
She brings me closer,
I start to doubt.

We talk,
We don't know.
We kiss,
Maybe we're wrong.

(Simplifications)

She starts to cry,
I calm her down.
Love is here,
Why can't we see?

Blindness is gone,
I kiss her eyes.
She hugs me tight,
I can see her insides.

We talk,
Now we know.
We feel,
We can't be wrong.

(Solidification)

Touching
Feeling
Kissing
Feelings

So much happiness
So much love
Happy tears
And now the void.

We don't talk,
We know.
We don't know what we know.
What's going on?

(Fear gently approaches)

I start to doubt,
She's far away.
Bodies so close,
Never enough.

Beating hearts,
Holding hands,
Syncing sighs,
Silence awaits.

We don't talk.
Are we done?
We're so close,
Love can't be gone.

(Emptiness)

I start to cry,
She hugs me tight.
What does it mean?
There's no reply.

We're blind again.
What happens now?
If this isn't the end,
Where has it gone?