My father is dying a snail slow death I think.
I don't quite know how to tell him to kindly stop dying.
Once I had the flu at 15 and he cleaned the sick off me
and said nothing of it after. That was kind of him.

There was something of a man in him. Hard to find,
turns out of men. Decency rattles and bites and burrows.
I wished at one point I would find on him that would
figure it out for me. Heretofore is sorry luck, love.

Dear dad

Dad, daddy, papa, pop, Baba,— but you weren’t ever quite my father, I hate the term step dad, especially with you— you treated me with sweetness that was almost bitter, you coddled me but you made me brave, you made me: me.


Without my dad, without you in my life I wouldn’t be the bold young lady, and man I’ve growing to be, with the taste for a thrill and humor I’ve held onto right— you were the father I had, one of the Two: though through the parody I call my life, you were indefinitely my favorite dad, daddy, papa, pop, baba.


To you my step dad, my step— can’t quite make the mark, my not so perfect yet fun role model this is your unearned apology:


So my dear,  dad, daddy, papa, pop and baba—I am sorry, I am sorry for still caring about you even though you have exited my life, I’m sorry that I could never quite figure out wether I loved you or not, I’m sorry for never trying the food you wanted me too— even when you offer to pay me. I am sorry for forgetting whether I forgive you or not.



But nevertheless I am not sorry for. my dear dad, daddy, papa, pop, baba for hating you for you out lashes, the stench of alcohol you reeked of after and during every argument, I am not sorry for looking at you with betrayal, I will never forgive you for what you put my mother through, and what you put my brothers through.


You are my dad, my daddy, my papa, my pops, my baba and my father— but I need to take a step back, dear step dad, I hope you forgive me for that.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.

Dad says the house must be clean,
or my friend can’t come.
He is coming tomorrow—he really is.

The vacuum only holds so much.
I work all day.
My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.

But it’s not clean.
I sweep and sweep—maybe I weep.
The tears stain. It’s not clean.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.
As soon as it’s clean.

I put my toys away.
I stack and stack,
boxed and neat.
But I imagine a game.
I play alone—still make a stain.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.
As soon as it’s clean.
Yet I’m still playing alone

My body still carries the home I grew up in
I am still hiding from my father's anger
My mother's disappointment
Drowning them out was easier
When they did not speak with my own voice

I find myself saying "I wanna go home" a lot. But what do I mean by that? Cause I'm not talking about the home where I mix my flowing tears with the flowing water from the shower, or where I pray my headphones are charged so I can block out the loud arguments.

I'm talking about the home where I run into my dad's arms again when he gets home from work, where I can beg my mom to read me a story as I fall asleep, where I can laugh and not worry about how I'm gonna make it through tomorrow.

But that's impossible. I can't go back to where times were okay. I can't go back to where I felt okay. Because im here now. I'm here with the loud voices telling me to quit. I'm here with the laughter after I take the wrong step. I'm here where I would rather do anything but look at my dad.

I'm not home, I'm nowhere near it. But instead of saying that, I'll just tell myself one more time that I want to go home.

Even though I will never make it back home.

The color blue,
not just a random hue.
Blue begins the start of each day and continues through the night.  
Blue like the sadness you feel when your not feeling right.
Blue as the tears falling from your cheek when you start to overthink.
Blue like the deep waters; some will tread, others will sink.
Blue like the birds who flutter their wings high in the nest,
and stay snuggled under their mother’s breast.
Blue like the blood pulsing in your veins keeps your body living.
Blue like the color eyes you stare deep they just keep giving.  
Blue like the bluebells growing in a patch,
just putting a smile on your face when you pass.
Blue like the hottest part of a flame from a fire,
never touch no matter how much you desire.
Blue like the flag that holds the white stars tight representing our freedom and our rights.
Blue like your fingers and toes getting frozen from the weather, making it hard to move
Blue like the moon that Elvis sang about and he swooned us, too.
Blue can be the faintest hue to the deepest hue.
Blue can always look so good on you,
no matter what your mood,
What’s not to love about the color blue?

She can sleep in my bed
He can rest on my head
She can answer my ‘whys’
He can ask me for tries
She can comfort my sadness
He can translate my madness

But it’s not that easy
Love lies when it listens
Love cries and love dies
Love hides its decisions
Love’s unwise and love flies

She can light up my heart
He can shine in the dark
She can heal my disease
He can warm up my breeze
She can shield me from rain
He can help me with pain

But it’s not that easy
Love leaves after staying
Love does freeze and love sees
Love believes when it’s praying
Love deceives and love thieves

My old man ain’t around anymore,
He died of a heart attack all alone.
It’s a **** shame, I know.
I hardly remember his voice anymore.

I remember when he broke his leg crabbing,
We got to ride in an ambulance.
Id do it again just to hear you say,
Everything is gunna be ok.

My old man wasn’t lying,
When he said this world was harsh.
I’ve been burnt enough times,
To hold that **** close to my heart.

I didn’t plan on this pain,
That love leaves behind.
It’s a stain I can’t erase.
I try my best to keep this pace.

My old man would say,
**** what they say.
Just do your best and be true.
I love him, I know he loved me too.

I remember the call.
From my mom saying he wouldn’t wake up.
**** that day.
Nothing was the same.

I never saw the old man again.
His face is burned in my head.
I remember everything,
He told me, till this day.