where is the support group
for Trans Masc kids
with bad fathers
alcoholic fathers

ones that didn't show up
and still try to tell you
what a man is
and isn't
and by God it isn't you

a Father with misogyny
ran so deep
that my body is
a beautiful woman's
and God made me
to be this way

Born into the beautiful body of a woman

where is the support group
for fathers who are so damaged
dating girls within 5 years of me

i've never felt safe around a man
even the one who is half of me

maybe why i don't feel safe around myself

where is the support group
for Trans kids
that are 27
who always wanted to be like their dad
until they got to know him

who found the masculine beauty
within their best friend
who picked them up
every other weekend

and now
who can't even stomach
to muster
that that is my father.

the guilt
of a kid who just wished one of us
would die

ENOUGH ENOUGH OF IT ALL ALREADY!!!!

can you please stop traumatizing me
its been 20 years
haven't you had enough?
where is all of this material coming from?
is this a never ending bit and i simply just don't get the joke?

You were diagnosed with Leukemia and sadly, you didn't survive.
If you hadn't died 111 months ago, today you would've turned 75.
You were born on October the 18th of 1947.
But 111 months ago, you went to Heaven.
Your hair grew back after chemotherapy made it fall out.
When you were told you would die, there was no doubt.
It must have been terrifying when you learned that you were terminally ill.
You had to battle cancer and it was not easy to go through such an ordeal.
Today would've been your 75th birthday.
But 111 months ago, you were taken away.

my stomach was in knots
as i told you the news
but i didn’t expect was the yelling
the hitting and following bruise
it is yours; I swear
and I am yours too
but you don’t want to see him
don’t care when I am due
i will raise him alone
apple falling far from the tree
show him how to love and be good
show him what a man should be
so that when he grows old
and has a baby on the way
he can be a proper father
he will not run away

I remember dad sitting and reading
each evening after dinner
once he and me had washed up in the galley kitchen.

After, I remember him stripping down to the waist
and body washing at the sink, then completing
his evening shave.

I remember his big old badger shaving brush
and a shaving mug refilled with Old Spice.

I remember the odour, filling the kitchen
and sticking to him.

But mostly I remember him in his white vest
in the brown armchair under the warm standard lamp,
feet up by the fire, reading his books.

Wilbur Smith.
Alastair MacLean.
Jack Higgins.

The Sound of Thunder.
Ice Station Zebra.
Wrath Of The Lion.

Always a hardback. Always a loaner
from the regular family trips
to the woods and the library.

Always sitting in his heady mix
of Old Spice, Brylcreem and St Bruno,
reading and relishing the opportunity
to pass the book on to me
telling me of his envy of my first read
of the adventure he’d just finished.

With my first breath, I become
to wander till the last
to be and be and be some more
time slow at first, soon fast

And with his last draw of this world's breath
an orphan I become
His time well spent I take my place
to hear my distant drum

Dark dying thoughts once swallowed me
like harpies chattering on the wind
But with the truth of death fresh at my door
I greet him as a friend

Together we shall walk and talk
and leaves and stars will fall
I will see the patterns unfold
once hidden revealing all

from the moment i opened my eyes
i had no choice but to love you
to cherish you as if one day you would leave me
and start a new family somewhere far away
from the moment i could stand
i had no choice but to run to you
for comfort and love
but father,
tell me,
why don’t i feel loved?
is there something wrong with me?
is there a secret you haven’t told?
that you have never loved me at all
how come you don’t want me?
from the moment i began to think
i could only ask myself the same questions
over and over, father,
tell me,
is it something i’ve done?
is it that i’m the mistake you’ve created?
or how much burden i bring you?
how much i am spending?
but father,
each day i live as if i am no longer human
my needs do not exist because
those of yours are mine
so father,
tell me
when has your love for me finally died?

Father is a verb. -
Father's Day and Father Christmas
have tried to convince us, - but don't – be - fooled:
You can, may or will father, depending on your mood.
For father is a verb.

It only works in the transitive.
you can't father alone, only in relationship.
It doesn't resent hospital trips,
and offers wrap-around comfort when a partnership splits.
It's touch-line volume drowns out all rivals.
And belly laughs come standard with jokes on recycle.
(insert dad joke here)
Yes, father is a verb.

It's something that you do, despite the hour,
it drives right on through the night when life’s gone sour.
It'll hammer ten fingernails to get the job done.
It will dance, heedless of decorum
forgetting reputation (with an ill-suited hat on).

It turns manliness into awesome-men-ness,
It tempers strength with a dose of gentleness, yes
father is a verb.

Be sure, whoever you are, it works in the singular:
I can father; You can father
    (and I'm not talking *** here;
     that mostly needs a partner.)
But also,
-  it works in the plural -
we can father; and they can father, because, you see,
in this village it’s a joint activity:
we father (and we mother) collaboratively.

It works best in the present tense,
happening now, not "later!". -
It can be said in a gentle voice
or something - even - quieter.
sometimes active: directive, protecting.
but often responsive:
just sitting, listening.
... holding, and hugging.
It responds to need, you see, but works best proactively,
works great sacrificially.

More specifically, in the end it’s a doing word
not a noun to be worn like some tilted crown
It's not some post-coitus reflexive honorific
It's a feat way beyond a sudden beget.
Father’s not some title that you necessarily deserve.
It's one that's sorely earned.
Please believe me - that’s right, you heard,
father is a present continuous, long lifetime of a verb.

I remember how much Dad suffered during his final days.
After months of receiving chemotherapy, he passed away.
Regular chemo stopped working so they used a more powerful version that made him feel worse.
It wasn't long after he received the more powerful chemotherapy that he ended up in a hearse.
When it came to being diagnosed with Leukemia, it certainly wasn't something that was foreseen.
Today is the ninth anniversary of my dad's death, he died on the thirteenth of July in the year 2013.
When Dad learned that he had cancer, he made me promise to take care of Mom after he died.
But she died four months before he did and we didn't know she was ill, we were all mystified.
When a person becomes so ill that he or she dies, it's hard to comprehend.
When Dad drew his last breath nine years ago today, his life came to an end.