Sep 2014
"Daddy! Daddy listen to me count!"
One. I am the one. Your youngest descendant. I had no claim to your throne. I didn't want your crown.
Two. You had two other women besides my mother. Your beloved Queen, her closest lady in waiting, and my Mother, a peasant barely of age.
Three. In case you ever wonder a single mother has to work 3 jobs to afford an apartment, that smells like cigarettes and depression, and a diet of Ramen Noodles and freezer meals.
Four. "Mommy cries alot. I can't seem to figure out why. She told me I'm gonna be a big sister. I hope it's a boy."
Five. "Mommy never leaves my bed side at the hospital. We lost our house because Mommy had to quit her jobs. I don't like it here though. They poke me with needles and I'm losing my hair."
Five. "Mommy tells me it's okay that I can let go."
Five. "Grandma said an angel came in the night to make me better.
Five. I got called a boy in the bathroom today.
Five. I forget how to count when I'm emotional.
Five. I don't want to be bald.
Five... I mean...
Six. Your peasant found comfort in the arms of your best friend. His names Jim. He introduces her to Mary Jane, Molly and Aunt Hazel. When they're with her she forgets her two baby girls exist.
Seven. After 7 foster homes we ended up back with Mommy. She's more tired looking but they say she's clean. She still smells like our first apartment.
Eight. My innocent voice would carry the same heart breaking question to my worn out Mother's ears. "Why don't I have a Daddy like every body else."
Eight. The first time I was called a *******.
Eight. At 8 the bullying began.
Eight. Maybe I'd be better of dead.
Eight. He wasn't suppose to do that.
Eight. Mommy said it's wrong for a man to touch me like that.
Eight. Daddy why didn't you save me. You were suppose to protect me from all this.
Eight. Because you loved the feeling of the bottle pressed firm to your lips and the scorching of your throat, burning away any truth that could crawl it's way out your mouth more the 8 children you claimed and your ***** little secret.
Nine. I've seen you 9 times in my life. And each time you look worse. No teeth. Little hair. You've had 9 strokes in just a few short years.They say you spent to much time with Jack, Jim, and Jose. They don't know how you're alive.
Ten. I used to think you were a king. I used to tell myself you were busy running a country, fighting a war, doing anything noble. Instead of just leaving me.
10. I'm an adult now.
9. They say you accept the love you think you deserve.
8. Maybe that's why I fall for the jerks.
7. There's a boy. He likes your friends too.
6. I don't think I'm very happy anymore.
5. Sometimes I like to hang with Uncle Jim and Uncle Jack.
4. I can never have just one.
3. Each time it get's harder to say no to Mommy's girl friends.
2. I'm the daughter if two addicts.
1. "See Daddy I told you I could. I can count from 1 up to 10 and back down 1 again!"
"Sweetheart, that's a teddy bear not your.. your.. your..."
"I know Mommy I'm just pretending."
One. I am the one. Your youngest descendant. I had no claim to your throne. I didn't want your crown.
Two. You had two other women besides my mother. Your beloved Queen, her closest lady in waiting, and my Mother, a peasant barely of age.
Three. In case you ever wonder a single mother has to work 3 jobs to afford an apartment, that smells like cigarettes and depression, and a diet of Ramen Noodles and freezer meals.
Four. "Mommy cries alot. I can't seem to figure out why. She told me I'm gonna be a big sister. I hope it's a boy."
Five. "Mommy never leaves my bed side at the hospital. We lost our house because Mommy had to quit her jobs. I don't like it here though. They poke me with needles and I'm losing my hair."
Five. "Mommy tells me it's okay that I can let go."
Five. "Grandma said an angel came in the night to make me better.
Five. I got called a boy in the bathroom today.
Five. I forget how to count when I'm emotional.
Five. I don't want to be bald.
Five... I mean...
Six. Your peasant found comfort in the arms of your best friend. His names Jim. He introduces her to Mary Jane, Molly and Aunt Hazel. When they're with her she forgets her two baby girls exist.
Seven. After 7 foster homes we ended up back with Mommy. She's more tired looking but they say she's clean. She still smells like our first apartment.
Eight. My innocent voice would carry the same heart breaking question to my worn out Mother's ears. "Why don't I have a Daddy like every body else."
Eight. The first time I was called a *******.
Eight. At 8 the bullying began.
Eight. Maybe I'd be better of dead.
Eight. He wasn't suppose to do that.
Eight. Mommy said it's wrong for a man to touch me like that.
Eight. Daddy why didn't you save me. You were suppose to protect me from all this.
Eight. Because you loved the feeling of the bottle pressed firm to your lips and the scorching of your throat, burning away any truth that could crawl it's way out your mouth more the 8 children you claimed and your ***** little secret.
Nine. I've seen you 9 times in my life. And each time you look worse. No teeth. Little hair. You've had 9 strokes in just a few short years.They say you spent to much time with Jack, Jim, and Jose. They don't know how you're alive.
Ten. I used to think you were a king. I used to tell myself you were busy running a country, fighting a war, doing anything noble. Instead of just leaving me.
10. I'm an adult now.
9. They say you accept the love you think you deserve.
8. Maybe that's why I fall for the jerks.
7. There's a boy. He likes your friends too.
6. I don't think I'm very happy anymore.
5. Sometimes I like to hang with Uncle Jim and Uncle Jack.
4. I can never have just one.
3. Each time it get's harder to say no to Mommy's girl friends.
2. I'm the daughter if two addicts.
1. "See Daddy I told you I could. I can count from 1 up to 10 and back down 1 again!"
"Sweetheart, that's a teddy bear not your.. your.. your..."
"I know Mommy I'm just pretending."
This is the first time I've written about my Father. It's a release of so many emotions. This was the hardest poem I've ever written. This is my most vulnerable poem.
