Good morning beautiful girl
Are you ready to put me on?
Hurry now we are at the break of dawn
So wash your face
And pick up the pace
Let's finish this beauty race.

Pounce
Buff
Blend
Smear
These are the words we love to hear.

Little lady, pounce in your foundation
We dont want to see any indiscretions.
Buff out your contour we dont want to look to sharp
Oh c'mon honey,  this is only the start. 
Wet your brush its time to shine
Apply that highlight so we can blind.
 Now its time to grab that golden shadow
The one that reminds you of your mama. 
As she would tell you "blend baby girl".

Finally, pick out the maroon lipstick she loved on you
We all know she wouldn't want to see you blue.
Braid your long dark locks of auburn hair
Because she is with you everywhere.
Just go look in the mirror.
You'll see her face smiling back at you.
Picture perfect child,
Loveless
By her father's
Standards.

You don't
Need to change
Your
Precious Heart,
Just to
Satisfy
A man.
The sounds of church bells and the pleas of pastors saying "do not fear for God is near" echoes in my ears as i watch my father leave his temple to walk with the almighty.
The warmth of his hands began to fade into cold, and lifeless limbs i did not recognize.
Lingering sounds of a flat line accompanied by your voice of despair to let my father go.
That was when the first few petals fell.

Your vivacious smile accompanied by your long midnight hair was buried within the garden under the dead apple tree. 
The whispers of silence were deafining to your ears as you wet your pillows with the taste of brandy on your lips and the black streaks ran down your cheeks.
The once so full flower was beginning to thin. 
My hands turned cold as yours pulled away into those of another who was not my father. 
A rose petal fell. 

Time ceases to stop or slow down except when we are feeling melancholy.
But time with you was like taking roses off of a thorny bush with your bare hands; delicate and painful.
Just like you and i.
A child was left for the elders, but little did they know, she was an old soul.
I saw the sadness projecting through your eyes as you were trampled by this concept we call life.
I attempted to be of aid to you mother, but the demons wouldn't let go.
Little did i know your demons could wither a flower.

White oleander ran through your veins as you put those little white pills into your mouth.
A rose petal fell.
Then the day came where you were flying high. The sounds of white noise and tear drops hitting my skin haunt my dreams as i learned of the rose being taken away from me.
But did you know mother?
Did you forsee the quick end to a great future?
I did not; however, i knew there was not going to be much of a story to tell if you did not stop playing with the thorns.
But like a flower, you were delicate.
I guess that is where i get it from.
With every beautiful flower comes a root.
The last rose petal fell.

All that is left is a seed and thorns.
But to make a new flower, you only need the seeds.
A rose is like a Phoenix; the flower dies, but the seeds are reborn.
You left me with a seed of your life that i can use to continue to blossom into a beautiful rose like you.
And one day, my petals too will fall and wither. 
But my flower wont be made weak with thorns, but strong with them.
The thorns i have will be my story even as my thorns watch my petals fall to the cold damp soil that is my pillow.
Every petal falling is a different ending.
Your rose died with you.
Just like my fathers died with him.
But my petals wont fall.
My petals will one day wither to only be replanted again.
how am I expected to love one,
without even considering the other,
pretend you’re not important, a no-one,
you’re my father and she is my mother.

I know that what you did wasn’t right
you had a wife, two daughters,
yet you did it despite.
a phycological game, I hope never a fight.
why did you run away
at the stoke of midnight?

you did the unthinkable
now to save your conscience,
your memories are all fictional,
your actions towards my mother
are far from forgivable.
you tore through her confidence
forever feeling she is invisible.
alone with two young daughters
those years for her were miserable,
yet you still believe you were a father
your parenting was mythical.

not to say that your life has been kind
you fought in a war,
lost a friend in the blink of an eye.
PTSD forever haunting your soul,
you knock back a box of wine,
few beers before your midday stroll,
self medicating your entire life
to stave off those memories
and what you did to your wife.

it goes deeper than that I am sure,
a lifetime of damage
that you have had to endure,
that is why I see a man
who deserves my attention
because I do not turn my back
on another human needing an intervention.

I understand why most don’t agree,
you were a monster, a controller
my mother drowning in the dead sea.
you’re arrogant and unpleasant
but you truly care about me.
underneath your exterior layer
I believe there to be,
a man gently crying
sheltering behind the carefree.


I am trying my best to be more honest
so I don’t live out my life after my father
whose lying is spectacularly flawless
so I do not see why I should lie to you
I want a relationship because
I am scared of what you might do
a vulnerable man, I am too empathetic
I feel sorry for you,
it is not purely genetic.

it’s a sad circumstance
for a woman of my age
trying to break through her father’s exterior
and enter an unexplored cage
to break free the humanity that I believe is left
and release you from the uncertainty
what you are heading towards is death.
I am planning on visiting my father at the weekend, while my mother has just gained the courage to seek help for the phycological trauma he put her through during their marriage. I find myself torn between enlightening him on what he has done and saving him from his instability by playing along with the delusional world he has created for himself. I am forever being told I am too kind to people who do not deserve it, but there are circumstances where kindness is the only option.
This one is personal.
father-watching
faraway
triggered sweet by
memory plucked
from twinge of
heart at
husband whiskers
sprinkled in
the sink


father
slow transforming
out of sight
whisker white
a-creep through
long-time
beard of boyish
blondish-brown


sprouting
scraggled out from
ear and nose
and knuckle
round


eyes a-cave
and sunken deep
in shaded-over
cavities


for inward looking
more than
out


with no more
footballs
flung
about


and no more
children yanking
on the waking hours'
daggy trousers


for weeping
over old-time
music secret
in the dark


up with the
birds
down with
the sun


midlife
rush at last
a-hush and
calm in its
surrender
done


bones exposed
of parenthood
held frail a-clung
by gristle grey of
simple habits


coffee thick
and silky
run with
milk


and crispest
crusty bread
torn up
for dipping into
hearty stock


with olives
cheese and
ham on top


a drop
of something
oaky sipped
and languished


a-crawl with
thoughts of
father own
disintegrating


boyhood memories
coddled close
and satiating


with daughter
unbeknownst
father-watching
faraway


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
A man to whom one has looked up with reverence is especially treasured. His strength, his masculinity, his ability to protect those he loves. And as he ages his loved ones notice a softness creeping in, which only belies the softy they always knew he was inside.

But nevertheless it is poignant to watch—even from afar—as a great man begins to wither. Ever so slightly. But wither. In his body only, not his mind. But wither.
many a december twenty forth gone by,
   whence wisp of carolers ghosts hauntingly adorn
remembrance of sum...
   er things passed along tummy
   from ma late ma alm

   compunction eruption viz:
fruition, gumption interruption
   sans redemption how became re: born
whereby this pop -
   bleary eye lids ready to droop

   with his tired bones snapping
   and popping like jimmy crack corn
an immediate need to succumb to sleep
   found me transfixed how blessings did a dorn
mine attention riveted at shrouded foghorn
echoing...choing...hoing

   never knowing hands of time didst flap
matthew scott harris,
   who yawned avast cingular gap
countless decades swallowed un hap
pulley lost soul within early
   twenty something years

   devoid of inner GPS to help map
and guide this stricken n fore lorn future pap
though the hour
   (at time this got written) nsync kin rap
pa head lee well nigh

   closing in on six in the morn
   way before synapses snap
crackle and pop,
   whereby the sage within mine psyche

   waving a finger - tsk tsk - with mild scorn
for forgoing to bed, yet...
   a powerful tsunami like force arose up
   when viewing the account of how tara - blank -
   became rent asunder and torn
from an terrible accident of fate -
   though a miraculous recovery now worn.

now fast forward to recent past
receding extremely fast
as if powered by remnant cosmic blast
resulting in avast

blurred montage flickr ring
   exercise regimen of running plus lifting weights -
   perhaps so many reps of a curl
finds me applauding, huzzahing,
   and praising daughter's efforts...so you go girl

with all inner strength pell mell into fitness:
   disciplining molding, sculpting- yar body hurl
   testing your limits to the max
   whether across busy urban streets or...
   where landscape offers open space with pearl
jam skies - in outlying less populated tracts -
   giving freedom to dance n twirl.

ye r so lucky tubby alive
cuz immediate family, friends, relatives
   and now...this strange papa gives u high five
without asking anything in return -
   since inspiration courses thru me

   inducing thyself to strive
and/ or if when fate decrees,
   thee will make an awesome counterpart
   who this older papa bloke would envy
   as ye possess inxs of strength to re:vive.
----------------------------------
blessing for sound health

upon waking every morning I offer
silent benediction for the ability
to revel with full faculty of this aging body
still going strong where ability sans,

enjoying the simple pleasures
available thru bodily senses
plus cavorting, flirting,
identifying simple pleasures
in my nonsensical mien "inner child"

Woolworth more than money can buy
yet of course if I did happen
to be a lucky lottery winner
could definitely relief anxiety and allow
me to breathe easy yet,
never do justice pitted against robust
body, mind and spirit triage.
I thought I'd be numb by now
I am no stranger to your pain
Repeatedly I reach into my heart
Failing to sever the vein
One that connects my love for you
There is no longer anything to gain
Be gone from me
Cause me no more shame
Falling into your tricks
Playing your sick mental game
Father is what you never were
It's only a name
Every year you call to promise change
Why am I always surprised when it all stays the same
I can no longer stand beside you
A daughter you will never claim
Pictures is all we ever were
In a cheap little frame
Janery Alban Feb 16
Today I got to scream all of the things I wanted myself to know when I was younger.
Past me. She sits there, Shaking like a leaf. Part anger. Part Fear
Shattering resilience.
You are what simultaneously brings out the worst and best of me.
I resort to the tongue of my father because my mother's sweet and damaging arms couldn't do the trick.
You are the reason why I know I probably shouldn't have children.I just can't seem to let go. And so I become the sin. I become my father's sin, and my father's father's sin.
I'm sorry they were never there, but I still dream of holding you in my arms like my baby and taking you somewhere safe. I still dream of saving you.
But I guess in order to do that, first I have to save myself.

I have never left you. You can only imagine why it is so hard to do so now.
Emm Feb 16
When Mumma's gone,
no one would try to understand you sadly
voluntarily,
no one would bother with how you'd feel,
so take good care of yourself
'cause else no one will ever will...
they'll fit you into their own motive,
so you navigate quickly,
and play them in instead,
don't fall for it...
doesn't mean you're wrong,
doesn't mean you're always right
I won't be there to tell you
but I'll watch you silently no worries,
'cause you're forever partly mine...
...
--no one would go comfort you,
when you feel wronged,
when the world doesn't go your way,
no one would nudge it to spin for you...
no one to rely on,
no one to go to,
no one to shelter you,
no one ready to defend,
...
but my wisdom is with you,
a ready made weapon any day...
for you to move on,
for you to go on...
and pass it on...
'cause you know I do
Love you
and I keep my words true
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