I told my dad
I was watching the poetry slam on my laptop.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Opinions are like **** holes.
Everyone has one.”
Quote/unquote my father.
Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world.
Or is it what’s right?
Father sees more of a square,
but I like to see the world as a mess.
A beautiful mess, yes,
but not a square, geometric shape;
Sharp with points and edges and straight lines.
Are opinions really like that?
Opinions should be opinions.
Not right.
Not wrong.
I want to change his opinion on opinions.
Funny, isn’t it?
How can that be possible
if he sees a stream of words not a meaningful mind?
“Opinions are like **** holes.
Everyone has one.”
Could it be the opinion that seems so far fetched.
So out stretched.
So **** wretched.
Opinions are not **** holes.
Opinions are messes.
Some beautiful.
Some ugly.
He may see a **** hole,
but he may need to back up or put his glasses on.
These “**** holes” he speaks down upon are the “**** holes” that inspire me.
They make me feel like I’m not the only one who thinks like I do.
Like I’m not the only one that thinks stereotypes are stupid.
Like I’m not the only one that thinks equality is talked about
but not acted upon.
Like I’m not the only one that thinks that there is a God
and that is my God.
Like I’m not the only one that thinks opinions are not **** holes.
I told my dad
I was watching the poetry slam on my laptop.
Now I wonder, if he heard this poem, my poem,
Would he think that opinions are still
only just “**** holes”?