By age ten her father had left

Gone to another land,

Fortune upon his lips

She cried for days,

She felt alone...

Bereft

●

Abba, forgive me and forget
     The sins for which I live disgraced
     And face the wicked world shame-faced,
And I shall live to prosper yet.

Quarrels with father

are rotten: they're not allowed --


to have a bad end.

It was until today I realized I've been wrong this whole time.
Doing wrong.
I went to the house of God and I was taught and taught.
I sat there and kneeled and prayed and cried until the floor was
DRENCHED.
My face filled with sorrow,
As IF!! IF!! THERE WERE NO TOMORROW.
I see You Father.
I need you Father.
I want you Father!!!
So i say now, I welcome you into my life, I GIVE you my life.
For God all i need is your love, your care, your warmth, and I worship you.
I do Father.
I.
Do.

I wish you would’ve noticed.
The way I flinched at the sight of her
The way I laughed at things, even if they weren’t funny.
How I stopped calling you “daddy” 
Stopped leaving my room.
Stopped giving you hugs.

I wish you would’ve noticed.
All the bruises.
All the fear.
All the crying.

I wore them like perfume.
And still, you never smelled it. 

The scent was strong, filled with suffering and pain. 
It followed me everywhere. 

But you never recognized the scent of heartache.
Of betrayal.

And, eventually, I stopped crying altogether.
Because I knew tears wouldn’t make you notice anyway. 

You were supposed to be my dad.
I trusted you.
I loved you.
And you never noticed.

And even when you did,
you left. 
On your own terms.

And I was just strung along,
because I didn’t have a choice.

You moved on.
A new house.
A new girlfriend.
A new life.

But you never thought to apologize.
You never once asked what I wanted.
What I went through.
What went on behind closed doors.

I was expected to just…
forget.
But I never did.
And I don’t think I ever will.

Still,
you never noticed.
Or maybe you did.
Maybe you just didn’t care

I wanted an explanation.
I wanted to grieve.
Not for the people I left behind.
But for the person I once was.

I wanted to mourn for the version of me who trusted you.
The one who thought you would protect me.

Because you were my dad.

You were supposed to be my role model.
The one who was supposed to tell me that it’s okay.
To defend me. 
To tell me I’m not dramatic.
That it’s okay to feel this way.

Now, you just yell at me.
Argue.
Get mad because I isolate myself.

“Why are you so lazy?”
Your words chipping away at me.
Just how hers did.

Have you ever thought
I’m not lazy?
That, instead, I’m trying to cope?
Trying to live?
Trying to put on a happy face?

It’s ironic.

The person I thought once loved me, now treats me as if I’m a burden.

I never did get that apology.
And maybe I never will.

Little lives, born so small
No cares, no fear at all
Mothers’ worry while father’s pace
Knowing the world can be a heartless place
Little hands, little fingers, little toes
Always feel the love that shows
Show them love with no regret
These little lives need a safety net
Love them always, forever is how long
Let them love you, let them be strong

my mother hates me
my father blames me for my mothers hatred. please

they think they can hide it but I am no longer twelve years old
wondering why
my mother doesn't look up at me when I talk to her
no, I'm no longer twelve years old
wondering why
i am yelled at a double or triple or quadruple rate
of my older sister
I'm no longer a naive twelve year old
thinking my parents kept the poems i wrote for them

when i couldn't find them? you ask
well of course the wind picked them up gently like a mother
to her child (exceptions, of course)
and carried them to a better home
someone will love my art
if not you, there are desperados yearning
for a poem that is love in the purest form

i no longer have the pure love of a twelve year old
i see cracks on the wall that is my mother and father
some are my fault
they don't see mine, i filled them in with plaster
they are almost all from my parents
don't get me wrong, everything is emotional
my parents don't hurt my physical self
they think of themselves too positively for that

i am no longer a twelve year old grateful that my situation wasn't worse
if i am honest, at a young age i believed myself to
be in the greatest home in the world
a place of pure love and compassion
a family that cares more than God
i am still grateful but,
the eyes of sixteen don't see it the same way

[  ] I can never forgive myself for forgiving you

[  ] All those chances
[  ] All those days
[  ] And yet still you have always behaved the same

[  ] "Forgive him, he's family" is what they would all say
[  ] And I did
[  ] Every. Single. Time.

[  ] You were supposed to be the grown-up
[  ] but somehow, I always ended up being the one who acted grown
[  ] I was just a kid
[  ] And I was the one holding us together.
[  ] It was me bringing calm to your chaos,
[  ] Nursing you when you were sick
[  ] Keeping myself entertained
[  ] Playing with ******* to keep myself from feeling lonely
[  ] Cause you never bothered to grow up and show up
[  ] And even when you did, I still felt alone

[  ] And every time you got it together
[  ] you’d be better for a while.
[  ] You’d laugh again
[  ] act like things were normal
[  ] And make me think you were finally here to stay
[  ] So I’d let my guard fall just enough to believe it.

[  ] Then you'd disappear.
[  ] Or snap
[  ] leaving me again.
[  ] Always blaming myself, always thinking it was my fault
[  ] Also thinking that you didn’t love me anymore
[  ] Leaving me a mess.

[  ] And there I was again
[  ] In a never-ending cycle
[  ] a kid who was forced to grow up fast,
[  ] spinning lies to make you sound okay,
[  ] telling myself maybe next time would be different
[  ] Telling myself and everyone else "he's different this time"
[  ] But you were always the same

[  ] But now I'm grown up
[  ] And I'm tired of giving you chances
[  ] Of giving you my undying love and trust

[  ] Every now and the it replays
[  ] The sentence that got said so often it's written in my vains
[  ] "But hes your dad"
[  ] But I'm his daughter
[  ] But to everyone else that didn't matter
[  ] Because I should have been greatful that at least he was still "around"


[  ] We grew up together, really
[  ] you were practically a child too.
[  ] But with age, I matured.
[  ] You didn’t.
[  ] Even though I know you wanted to.

[  ] So I've finally decided I'm sick of making excuses for you
[  ] I've moved on
[  ] My patience has been used
[  ] But i understand it more now, however i dont accept it as an excuse
[  ] So for now, I made peace with who you are and what you do

[  ] You only get one dad, and I suppose I do love you
[  ] But I'm sick of forgiving you
[  ] Even though this time maybe it stuck

[  ] You have gotten better.
[  ] And I see that you try.
[  ] I know that you feel guilty.
[  ] But how do I know you mean it this time?

[  ] My one wish with all of this
[  ] Is that one day you will finally forgive yourself
[  ] And make peace with the fact that you ****** up.

[  ] Mistakes can fade,
[  ] but they don’t always disappear.

[  ] Like a scratch in polished wood,
[  ] you can sand it, seal it, varnish it with love
[  ] but the grain never forgets.

[  ] And neither does the little girl inside me.
[  ] She’s still there
[  ] stuck in time,
[  ] hoping you’d finally get your act together,
[  ] hoping you’d finally be her dad.

[  ] I’ve grown. I’ve healed. I’ve moved forward.

[  ] But she’s still waiting for the day
[  ] you become the man
[  ] she always believed you could be

i found silenced grief in my father's wristwatch
does he reminisce the golden days like i do?
once in a while, i look at my father's face
and notice the wrinkles —
do they come from worry,
or are they the scars of his sins?

sometimes, i walk down memory lane,
re-reading letters that are so dear to me
today, i found “happy birthday”
written on three sticky notes
in different styles —
i couldn't recognise my father's handwriting

the notes didn’t make me happy
they were reminders —
reminders that he missed
my last few birthdays
that he’ll never know my favourite colour
or why
i plan my own funeral so often

the notes still sit
untouched in my tiny box-
like him,
they say "happy birthday"
but never stay long enough to mean it

maybe love was quieter in his hands
and maybe that's what i'll ever get-
not presence,
not warmth,
just time,
and a man i call my father
who never stayed long enough