You better love her more than I love her
Heal all her scars
Speak to her insecurities
Be her security
Show her loyalty
Respect and honor who she wants to be

I raised her
now it's your turn to raise her beautiful gifts
Love them and cherish them
Embrace them and adore them

Love her and she will love you more
She will never let you go

Tessa S Sep 5

Opa has many stories
Germany, Canada, America
Childhood, young adult, adulthood
Opa tells me great grandpa got taken away during the war
Never to be seen again
Rumors everywhere
Could it be true?
They say he wasn’t taken he left
Another family, then gone for good
Goodbye great father, didn’t you love them?
Dad doesn’t opa love me?
“He doesn’t know how to be a father, he’s never had one”
My father has a father, but does he really?
Never had a single hug
A father that’s there but doesn’t know how
I look at the man who loves me, the best father a person could ask for
But how did he know how to be a dad if his father was not one
“I knew what I wanted in a dad”
So many stories
An independent child who ran from the war
A father wouldn’t have changed the hardship
But did great grandpa know?
Leaving a family who loved him
His child, his grandson, his great grand daughter
All were affected
One man
One decision
A ripple effect

Francie Lynch Jul 28

Da never bought a froggy pool;
We weren't friends like friends in school;
We never played til we showered naked.
We didn't hike and shoot the breeze,
Nor dump or whiz behind the trees.
We never hit the links together,
And relieved ourselves in St. Andrew's heather.
We never streaked sorority dorms,
Or stood bare-assed in a storm.
We never stood shoulder to shoulder,
At urinals for a sneak peak over.
Swimming wasn't a thing for Da,
So we never swam in the raw.
And Da was never one to flash.

Near the end he couldn't wash,
I never gave a bed-sponge-bath;
But Clean my teeth, was what he asked.
Let me bring this to a close,
Da was always donned in clothes.
I never saw my old man's dick.
And that's the long and short of it.

I don't know. I claim authorship though.
Ink Jul 1

My name is my submission to male dominance
     I am somebody's daughter,
     somebody's wife.
I willingly call myself so
     It's because I love my father
     I love my husband
And I am honoured to be called
In his name

But sometimes
When a ray of anger rushes into my heart
By the feminine idea of self-respect
I wonder
     if my father loves me, why is his love trumping of my mother who bore me inside her body for months of restless ease?
     if my husband loves me, why has he never consider calling himself Mr. Mine, where he my husband and I his wife?

But I tuck these thoughts away
They are too balancing of power, too simply different.
I mustn't let the patriarchy hear, or I will dishonour my worth
As a woman.

Once upon a time
A childish boy full of tender and innocence
Loved his father like there was no tomorrow
He had everlasting joy because of his presence
And they played, danced, and sang without a sorrow

Until one day the father left without saying goodbye
And every promise he made became a lie
So the boy was forced to be a man and stood alone
Brave and strong in front but fragile and easily blown

Lost and shattered, he longed for a father
For it was just the boy's lifetime desire
unbeknownst to him, a Light was holding his hand all the time
And that Light mantled him even when he was covered in grime

His desire became a reality
He met the Father of all entity
So the old has gone and the new has come
A little boy no more, for he is Father's son

Then a prayer he made that his father to be saved
For the boy waits for him today so that someday he will be able to say,
"I love you just as He has loved you, Dad. Now and forever."
The end

My Father's Day gift to him and to Him
XfoxspeakX Jun 24

I've tried to talk to god but i think He stopped listening.
The same way I feel I tried to talk to my father but he already decided he was leaving.
So where do I go when my two fathers don't bother while I'm drowning in white water waiting for rescuing. Waiting for your hands to pick this boy up and say "son, I'm never leaving, never leaving again"
Father did you kiss me good night each night before you left to kiss your lover goodbye? Did you care if it was kind? Did you know the broken mess you'd leave behind?
My god is like my divorced father because I only talk to him on Sunday. After days of feeling ignored like a buey in the waves. My earliest memories of crawling into bed with you to keep warm and feel safe. Those memories are over two decades old and they still won't fade.
I remember my laughter every time I sat on your lap and you're tickle bug bit me till I thought my lungs would collapse, until I thought "this can last for ever" but that didn't happen.
You left a wife, a son, and a teenage daughter and left us all feeling like you'd never want us. Do you miss it at all?
Do you miss the snowball fights and cuddling your little boy to sleep at night?
My only memories of you and I are ones I tried to pull back because they make me wanna cry. Was the mistake your infidelity or was it me? Because you chose one and I believe it wasn't me. You were my king.
You left me to rule my life with this disease. A fear of abandonment and intimacy. And now how am I supposed to love? I can't see the forest through the trees, but maybe im blind so I can't see, anything. How could you do this to me?
Was my love, my smile, myself not enough? You had to take my heart too and break it along with all your old stuff.
I may never let go of my angry heart because even when I try to talk to God I wonder if His lover calls.
Will I ever be enough?
So when I say I can't love it's the fear you instilled in me. Like a needle shot into my arm to swim in my blood, I wish your love would swim in me. Definitely, intimately, swim with me. Infinitely.
Because I never learned to swim and I'm drowning saying Father save me. But night after night for twenty years slowly my childhood fears come to life.
Blood from our backs on the tip of your knife, dad why?
Why couldn't you turn around and lay back with your wife?

You're never coming home are you? No. You're never coming home.
You say you're just a stones throw
Well how do you know?
We don't know how far my tiny arms can throw,
What we know is I am prone to be alone
With mountains of sticks and stones
Laid on top of my broken bones.
And these words hurt me
"We are a broken home,"
And I'm just afraid to be alone.

We gave you our love
And you took it out of our home.
We gave you our hearts
And you away you drove.
I gave you my love.
You never got it in your head.
I gave you my heart
And you took it into her bed.

Dear dad, these demons, they're haunting me

I'm sure there are typos in this poem. This one was a tough one. I wasn't sure what to write about so I just started with the first line and kept going.
I found it hard to be a Christian and a lover of people when I have no relationship with my actual father. For most of my life my father and I had a minimal , service-level relationship and even attempts at suicide and joining high school sports couldn't bring us much closer.
This isn't made to depress anyone, this is to hopefully relate to several people who feel similarly.
Unknown Jun 23

Oh father, father, father.
Where have you gone?
What have you done?
There is a ghost that beginning to look a little like you.
Lets raise a toast, father.
To the man that is never home,
To the man who does not love,
To the man who never has a plan.

Oh, father, father, father.
Look at what you have done.
Your children have stopped caring.
Your wife has given up.
Who do you have left?
You live here, but you may as well not.
You make these promises and stab us in the back.

I love you, daddy.
Can't you see?
You've ruined me.
You've ruined my siblings.
You've ruined my mother.

Remember? Always and forever?
I think it is time to let go,
and say our goodbyes.

to the kids you feel as though their fathers do not love them, to the ones whose fathers are never home, to the ones who don't see their father as a parent figure - but simply a stranger.
amber Jun 19

dear daddy
you let go of my hands just as i began to take my first steps in this world
left me stumbling and grasping onto things to hold me up
you didn’t look back, you didn’t call or tell me you loved me
no dad you just left with nine years of my life and my heart
i remember your stories about the adventures you endeared
you made me believe in things larger then life
promised me you’d take me but then left me with my imagination
and you walked out

dear dad
i understand now why you had to leave, i know this life wasn’t for you
you craved adventure and adrenaline not settling down and commitment
i would be lying to myself if i said i didn’t miss you. i do.
i want you to come back and take me on all those crazy adventures
but i understand that your mental illness had a hold on you
i know because sometimes dad i can’t seem to like the life i have
my mind races from thought to thought and i just want to have fun
and when I’m not seeking adventure I’m in bed disconnected with reality
and i think of you, and your struggles and your inability to accept responsibility
except now i understand why you couldn’t do it
you were so special dad and i am just like you

my dad suffered from really bad bipolar disorder and as i child, i never understood how severe it could be until i experienced it myself
Frank DeRose Jun 18

My father hurt me.
Not emotionally, or verbally, or physically.
But he did push me.

He thrust me forward and higher,
Steered me through brackets of thorny growing pains.

I bled and was scratched,
But am not scarred.

He has constantly molded and guided me,
His hands rough and calloused,
(From all those long years in the kitchen, making and earning bread),
But ever caring.

He gave me so many "father-son" talks,
And charitably called them "man-to-man."

He breathed me into existence,
And his imprint on my soul is indelible.

Though there are places where the treads are different,
And the paths diverge,
One always informs the other.

And while of course we sometimes disagree
On thoughts of who the other should be,

He has taught me what to be,
And I have learned also what not to be--
From him I have taken the best
And behind I have left what is left.

I am proud of who I am,
And as I put these thoughts into words,
I know fully that I am where I am

Not in spite of him--
But because of him.

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