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Father please hear me, I have something to say,
These are my words, they won’t go away.
I have longed for them to be answered, day after day,
From the time I was a little boy
To the man I am standing here today
I am burdened with your silence like a heavy weight on my chest,
Chasing your shadow, I have always tried my best.
Through every single success, and millionth fall,
I have waited for something—anything at all.
Have I ever made you proud, or do I belong? Am I just guessing, was I always in the wrong?
I have looked in your eyes, they never would tell, they never would say, and now you’re leaving, about to die today, I fear they never will,  I fear you won’t even try.
Still, I am here, if you are wondering why,  my heart is torn, a son who has waited since the day he was born, for a father‘s pride, a father‘s love, anything for his father to finally be proud of, but………..
Dad it is okay, if you have no words, If you cannot say, you’re proud of your son here today, then please take my hand, don’t let this moment slip away. I will always love you anyway. Rest easy.
R.I.P Stacey Lynn Stoops(DAD)
10/28/1954~08/2023
Our relationship was complicated, but I love(d) him anyway. He was my father, and he has visited me since his passing, and made his amends. He has told me he is proud of me, and that is all that matters.
Zee 2d
You called me darling, a name just for me,
A love so pure, as deep as the sea.
No matter how busy, you always found time,
To play, to laugh, to make life shine.

You brought me chocolates, a sweet little treat,
Never once letting me feel incomplete.
No wish was too big, no dream too far,
You moved mountains to gift me the stars.

Through sleepless nights, you held my hand,
When I was weak, you’d help me stand.
If I was hungry, you’d go without,
Your love, unwavering, beyond all doubt.

In my darkest hour, you were my light,
A guiding star burning ever so bright.
With every answer, with every care,
You made me fearless, beyond despair.

People call me strong, they don’t see,
That you were the one who built that in me.
No man, no force could bring me down,
For you made me a queen, deserving a crown.

But now you're gone, and I feel so alone,
The one love I had, the truest I've known.
The world feels empty, cold and wide,
Without you standing by my side.

Yet, deep inside, your strength remains,
In every heartbeat, in every vein.
Though I can’t see you, I know you’re near,
Whispering "darling," calm and clear.

So I’ll stand tall, though my heart may ache,
For you gave me a strength no one can take.
And when I falter, when I fall,
I’ll hear your voice—your love through all.
Dear dad,

when you left, it broke mommy.
you hurt her
an then as soon as she tried to get better you tried to take me away
you hurt me deeply too you know
not only me
not only her
you hurt nana, poi.
you hurt us all
as soon as i was "old enough" i was used
and you defended your brother
because of course you did.
you chose him over me
i hate you.

i dont really.
i dont.
i love you
because im supposed to.

Love,
Holly.
a letter to my dad
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.
My dad is great!! Promise!!
In the lines lines of his figure i search in vain
for the man full of strength and vigour
but all i see is an aging frame staring into eternity
sad and insecure with moistened eyes
i move towards him ,. he looks at me
and then i know this man shrivelled and old is he
in turn he sees a stranger with salt and pepper hair
is this the little girl i braught up with loving tender care
he rises and moves with a sudden spurt
arms open and i am engulfed
and then i know, these old bones still have
the power to comfort.
love for a father
filial love
Lynn Mar 19
I  hear your shouts
And his screams
I hear his stammered apologizes
And frantic denial
What he did wasn't even wrong
He's just a boy
And you're a man
Why don't you understand
Your job is to help and not scream
What the actual yourself my Dadck do you mean?
You're a father
Not a Sargent
Why are you going off again
Hitting is not disciple
Stop unless you want him to grow up accepting it
So in his room when I hear his muffled screams
I wish for a time machine
To stop you from meeting mom
And save us from our inevitable fall
Your everything ends with our hurt
I love you
But your the fcking worst
Jonathan Moya Mar 17
I tried on several of my father’s
old Brooks Brother suits
just before his funeral,
trying to save myself the expense
of an outfit I didn't need.  

Each was too tight on the collars.
too short on the sleeves, each
crotch inseam strangled my manhood.
I had outgrown them all.

Almost all of it will go to Goodwill-
except maybe for those old coal wingtips,
(still in their slightly battered but original box)
heels and soles worn down from hospital rounds,
the leathers evenly laced, spit and
polished to a proper navy shine,
solid and smooth, enough to go from
monolithic to Marley vinyl
without missing a beat.

I could almost hear “The Great Pretender”
play as he glided my future mom
(literally,”The Beauty Queen of Fulton Burrough”)
across the ballroom floor, and then,
suddenly stop, and leave her,
as the hospital pager buzzed on his belt.

All my father- a short, balding but
approachable looking guy, with the
devil’s goatee- ever needed to win
my mother over, was Nat King Cole.
What he left her with, was Harry Belafonte
swooning his existential sorrows out to her-
“Day-o, midnight come and I want to go home.”

I smelled the stale odor of talc
distinguishing itself from moth *****,
and was tempted to slip them on,
but figured the cost to resole them
wouldn't be worth the price. Besides,
that oxblood polish would be too hard
to find.  I left them there for the next
tenant to decide their fate.
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Feet firm on earth,
still chasing dreams
in a world now his own.

Sweat spills from strong pores,
forging currents of futures
he now shapes.

Tight embraces,
arms steady and sure,
a father’s pride made strong.

Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his resolve.

Grass stains on knees,
still bending the world
to his will,
moved by purpose.

Anthems of hope
rise in his voice,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.

The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
once hidden by modesty,
are now lived out loud.

He follows his path
through shifting fields,
where once slick frogs slipped
through eager hands—

A world he builds,
a world he claims,
a world his father
now trusts to his hands.
A follow up to "Son"
Ross J Porter Mar 12
Soft hands once held tight,
small fingers grasping
strings of laughter—
bubbles of wonder.

Now, steady hands weave
threads of her own,
spinning life’s fabric
with quiet resolve.

Footsteps that still dance
through sunlit sand
also press firm paths
of wisdom and grace.

Her voice, still a song
belting with fervor,
speaks with echoes
of strength and love.

Mischievous smiles remain,
tempered by time,
yet still lighting the room
with their knowing glow.

Bright eyes, still seeking,
but also seeing—
a future shaped
by hands once guided.

Trusting, complete love—
a father watches,
holding tight to pride,
as she floats beyond—
on threads of time.
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