"babysit" poems
Learning from your past is way better than just forgetting it..
You're not a child for people to babysit..
those lessons will help you when you'll think that the only way out is to quit..
The correct formula to success was,is and will always remain hard work..
Bring your dreams to life..
or continue to live your life on the edge of a knife..
Live your everyday life with the lessons of yesterday..
-Sharvish
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
Are you a tourist or
A volcanologist my dear?
With a painful joy
To a live volcano getting near,
Do you want to pay homage
To earth's nadir
Conscious that beneath a sea level
A sweltering heat you can bear?
Then to Erta Ale come you not why
Found under Ethiopia's sky?
With a style jumping high,
Hitting the ground
Beating drums, on their waists,
Sabres tied around
Afro men along with braided women,
With butter greased hair,
The latter ululating and clapping
In a row facing each other
Chant a love song
“My feeling for you is strong!”
The male herd camel,
While women babysit,prepare food
And make short huts
With tiny malleable wood.
Also dot the mirage-forming sand
Huts grand.
Are you a tourist my dear
Eager to see about
Out of the ordinary you heard
Say about multicolored magma
Volcano's dust,
Disgorged out of earth's crust?
Do you want to see a scenery
You have not seen
Since you were born,
How in a motley garment
Mother nature itself
Likes to adorn
Come then to Ethiopia,
Located in Africa's horn?
Visit Erta Ale ,
On earth
To run away from earth
Enjoying its hearth.
You will witness
The extraction of salt
In a volcano-formed fault.///
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 3:30 AM UTC
With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit
Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit
I'm not really sure of what they believed about God
but they didn't attend church at that time.
While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany
due to a lock out in the NHL
and her mother was out of town,
I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend.
I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night
I approached the subject of God with her.
She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time,
so initially she was afraid.
I think she said something like if God came to her front door
she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in.
Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely
no better than to mess with him lol.
I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend.
Of course we also discussed how we can't see him
and what Heaven is,
and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers,
but she did listen intently.
We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress,
a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then,
She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age
she had little if any real understanding,
But now she is a young woman,
a believer in Christ, living an amazing life,
an encourager,
strong like her father,
and I can't help but hope a little
that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago
may have helped shape her into the person she is today.
A few years back she shared with me on facebook
a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state.
The poem was worn & tattered
but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years
is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me.
I may never have children of my own,
Not always an easy thing to accept,
But I do thank God for the time I was given
in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
Everyone wants to be drama-free
what kind of world would that be?
It would be very very sad to see
I'm sent here to bring controversy
There is a vicious evil that hides inside
hating all of those who want to commit suicide
Selfish ******** always wanna run and hide
loving all the insecurity and hypocrisy
that gives me the **** needed to be
Natural Born Instigator, here to rile up all them haters.
Can't believe I waited this long, half them haters aint even strong.
Pain and hurt gets me off, I'm finding out mad peeps are soft
Can't even handle life, so I would just toss them a knife.
Go ahead
Make it quick
I aint here to ******* babysit
No one even really cares, remember your moms she was never there.
Your so-called friends aren't even here.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
and i’m probably wrong,
but- good.
everyone else gets to be wrong, and be proud of it,
and be supported in their fallacies
shallow girls with their fickle girlfreinds
so eager to agree that “guys ****
hey, newsflash,
if you want to earn the right to be so fragile,
stop treating other people like they’re made of stone,
and these girlfriends who are there for you now,
was it only last week that they were all *******
and didn’t you hate them for all the things they said about you to each other behind your back
(all the same things you say about them behind theirs)
all the girls you would call fat and ugly then turn to me hours later for consolation about insecurities or insult to your own appearance,
all the friends you forced me to get to know,
then forced me to hate,
the warnings you ignored,
only to overreact at the end as if you didn’t know,
and still somehow blame it or take it out on me.
this is for the beanie baby turtle you made me throw out of the window because it was a christmas present to me from your now ex-best friend.
this is for the girl i’ve known since i was a toddler that came to my dad’s fiftieth birthday party with my aunt who used to babysit us both.
she came along because she thought it would be fun to see all the people that she hadn’t for the greater part of ten years.
she came to see me.
she was very beautiful.
i forced myself to ignore her because i knew how you would have reacted.
i will never forgive myself for that.
i’ll probably never see her again.
this is for the class i failed
staying up the night before because “i HAD to call you”
the night before the big test because you were so upset over something that was literally nothing at all
and i told you it was stupid to act like it was a real problem
but i still talked to you well into the early morning as i stumbled around the dark streets
in the cold
because i needed privacy to talk to you and my roommate was in the room.
and so was my calculus book i was trying to read through.
but no- you’re not selfish,
that’s me.
the truth is you need me more than i need you
and the truth is when i first met you, you put on an innocent girl act
but you were just a ****
you and all your friends, the easy, broken girls who didnt get enough love,
from semi-broken homes, who didn’t know what normal or okay were,
and i gave you everything i could.
and you took it all
and then you took it for granted
and then you took me so far in that i never could get back out
i’m tired of being your soft spoken boy
don’t tell me i’m inconsiderate.
don’t tell me i’m not understanding.
don’t tell me you love me when we make up.
you wouldn't know the first thing about it.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 1:32 PM UTC
I was in the car with the mama of the girl I babysit,
her brown deep eyes like whittled wood flicked over mine,
and she asked me what I had learned at school today.
I don’t know, but I think it’s this spring fever
that seems to have burned a hole through my head
letting my brain bounce up into the blue abode
but the blame is not solely on the season
Everything I learn that keeps me living,
lives in the trains of thought,
thought by others.
The mothers I meet with the babies who greet the failure
at the first knock on their wobbly knees
compel me to contemplate further,
because with each waking breath
they are reminded that to live, you learn.
So I tell this fragile woman that today my teachers taught,
but the thought of their subjects
subjects negative connotations,
I want real lessons without plans to hand you wisdom, courage, and consideration
I get to learning in the jaw clinching, artery pinching, eyebrow flinching
awe of the way that woman can sing.
I’ve learned the color of my best friends teeth
because some days she smiles.
Learning to heal is hard enough, but to deal with a scab left raw
is something I will always need improvement on.
With, or without school I’m going to learn.
I’m going to learn cold beverage condensation rings,
percolating dreams,
my little sisters shy smiled wings
and societies racist, sexist, sizeist, ageist, ableist, tightly sewn seams.
Im rattling off my bare brisk list of ambitions,
of pleading for a voluminous scholarshipped tuition,
as I sit next to this woman waiting for a robust reply
I’m learning, that the whittled wood gap in her eyes
are round with sticky sap.
She will teach her daughter academically, never letting her size our common ground;
The skies.
I want her baby to experience,
and as if on cue,
her yawn brings in the tides of the oceans in her eyes,
something she’s learning to cope with,
she’s grasping my soft word’s
“This too, shall pass,
make sure you look to learn with your eyes not your brain,
dear baby girl, choose water over wood,
and when your mama tells you to pack that school bag,
make sure its zipper barely closes over
tightly stuffed open mindedness, and a few colored pencils.”
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Chances are you've changed your plans again and
I'm betting I'm no longer a part of them
So I stand still and
You go steady
I guess you thought my friendship needed a vacancy
As if we could have too many
Reach a maximum occupancy
Exceed the optimum capacity
I have to say I'm not surprised
I've been told bigger lies
I often wonder why our pants aren't on fire
Isn't that what we used to say to each other?
Liar liar
You're too busy and
I'm too guilty
Ultimately
I don't really want you to be this happy
That says less about you and more about me than
I love you
Ever did
I'm sorry you had to babysit
My infantile intake of insults
Never ceasing to receive the same results
I just wish you wouldn't insist it was only my fault
Be honest
It wasn't just me who crossed the line
I was never leaving lies behind
When you found out you just said
You'll be fine
Liar liar
Go get married and have two kids
A few years from now you can tell me how it is
I won't know how it feels to repeal vows
Wedding band wasteland
What wonderful self worth we might have
Ill hang out here near the exit
Loitering through life and
Longing for the opportunity to
No longer want to be loved
When the fire crashes down from above
I will look to the sky and whisper
"Best friends forever"
Aflame at last
Liar liar
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
When we're in the car i can't hum to myself silently, but my brother is allowed to scream along to whatever is in his headphones.
When we're in the car and i ask my brother to stop jumping because his arm hits my face wverytime he does so
I am told to shut up.
When i ask for help i am always just told that i am the oldest one.
But my brother is only 10
So when he asks they're all there with whatever he needs.
When i comment on something my parents won't listen and ask me to shut the **** up.
But when my brother asks, they're all about listening and telling him that he is oh so right.
When i am crying i am told that i have no reason to do so.
But when my brother is crying they're all asking if they can help.
When i want to be with friends i am told that i don't spend enough time with my family.
But when it's my brother, of course he can!
When i want time alone i am told to babysit my littlesister.
When my brother wants time alone he ******* gets it..
And when i say i think that it's unfair, they tell me i'm ridiculous and i also had the perks of being a kid...
But is there no perks of being the oldest?
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
I am a Christian.
Do not look at me differently,
Do not roll your eyes or scoff.
Do not lump me in with every other Christian
You have ever met
Or heard of.
Do not assume that I am like the Westboro Baptists,
Or that I only believe what I do because of my parents.
Do not question my sanity.
Do not assume you know my views or my reasons,
But please, ask.
Do not suppose I will be extreme,
Or that I live under a rock.
Do not think I am naïve or a saint,
Or that I expect everyone to live
By what I think is right.
Do not presume that I fit your stereotypes, whatever they might be.
Do not take for granted that I have no idea how to have fun.
Do not associate church or my faith with being boring.
Do not suppose that you understand me or the depths of what I believe.
Please just do not assume that because you know one, you know all.
I am a Christian.
Ask me why.
Ask me about my thoughts on the world,
Or on political issues.
I will gladly tell you whatever you’d like to know.
Ask me about the wonderful moments of God I see around me.
Ask me what evidence I have.
Tell me all about what you believe.
Talk to me without reservations or awkwardness.
Ask me what traditions my family has, or how we celebrate holidays.
Ask me what makes me different.
Laugh with me about the children I babysit during Bible study.
Cry with me when someone passes away.
Look with me to see the ways God is working in the world.
Give thanks with me before dinner.
Join me at church one day to see what it’s like for yourself.
Love with me all the lost people in the world.
Love yourself.
I am a Christian.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both
roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more
than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands,
a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing
Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers,
milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear
of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite,
quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires,
17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror,
the road back home, detour, detour, going down south
by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief,
steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have
I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you,
it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of
norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine,
it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black,
but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin,
lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work,
babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons,
the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss?
Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard,
tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself,
earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle,
both roads lead to an affair with me.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
Social media has led to this world
Of anti-social people;
Created this void for seeing others
Face to face - let's just skype or facetime.
It's no wonder so many teens of this
Generation think they are depressed,
They base all self worth on the number
Of likes they get on their selfies.
The number of followers and
Online "friends",
I'm just saying,
This is only the beginning.
Whenever something happens,
Whether good or bad,
Everyone gets out their phones to video
And post to Youtube - it's a new fad.
People text and message each other,
They are dating through social media sites,
Every instance of their relationship is through media,
Half of all break ups occur through text - that aint right.
What happened to the days of playing outside,
And kids going on play dates while their parents bond,
Now the kids I babysit have an iPad, tablet, computer,
And an iPhone which is nicer than mine.
Did I mention they're only 5, 3, and 7,
And they share their electronic toys,
But what happened to going to playgrounds
To play with other girls and boys?
Now they only play online,
Because their friends are all online too,
They're saying, "Hey man, give me a life",
But sadly, this is what their life has become and there's nothing I can do.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
i have no internet
and i'm at the house
of the child i babysit
except he's not a child
he's sixteen
and i have no idea why i babysit him
except that i get paid well
and he's in a wheelchair
so i basically do nothing
the whole entire time.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
"I'm a father, and I don't do a few things.
A father doesn't babysit his kids,
what are you part time?
Wake up, if your thinking this,
your not father material
your a ***** bank for hire.
I don't get drunk in-front of my kids,
you slurring your words.
Anger making you lash out.
That's a problem, you see
love is kindness, not anger and grief.
"I'm a father and I do a few things right.
A father reads to his kids, imagination
ignited in little minds.
"ROAR" went the dino baby as
it showed mummy and daddy
its new voice that it found.
Trees trembled and the earth
did jump for this little dino
showed off the voice
"ROAR" it never knew it had.
A father looks after them when there sick.
Team mummy and daddy.
Snooty Maggie,
that's mummies section.
Green little monsters popping out of noses,
slim trails on white tissues, so gross.
Buggers make daddy heave.
Pukky Pedro,
now this is daddies area.
scrap the chunks,
clean the sheets, give them a shower.
Now get the bucket, that rests next to the
little ones bed.
Sleep my baby, mummy and daddy are close.
A father is meant to show love,
don't be a part timer.
Were meant to be proud of what we have or had
with the love of our life.
We created someone,
who will bring a smile to eithers face just with a look.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
So i'm in this room,
these guys all wink,
hella dumb said pink in the stink,
when I focus they go
Hocus -pocus,
side tract mind cracked,
mind lost,
double trouble.
I'm in math can't help but laugh
cause two plus two means me plus you, ? O.o
your just so funny,
lol I'm not your'e honey,
your so cheezy and your'e hair is greesy.
Only girl,
And i'm the ****
cause these boys can't take a hit,
bitchen. Bitchen hissy fit,
why there hear,
well babysit...
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
Knock, knock-
who's there?
No one?
Just a pile of **** on your doorstep again
and look it's on fire!
But you know better than to stomp it out.
you run and get the water but by that time
your house is up in flames.
As you look out the window you see life running by
throwing his head back and cackling.
What a ******* joke.
Everything is **** at my doorstep again-
it won't be long until the flames wreck everything.
I try to hold on-
but it seems as if every time I try to be happy
life is patiently awaiting around the corner
to steal my smile and run away with my optimism.
Optimism has always been a two-faced *****
she will come around when you least expect it
and help you with a ****** breakup
but then you get a call
your aunt is in the psych ward-
and her husband has bone cancer, again.
So optimism looks you straight in the face
says, **** this" then runs away.
Each time becomes more routine
and each time you get your hopes up
that it will stay by your side but it never ******* does
because this one seems to be blind.
Life is always the thief
a getaway car two streets ahead
before you even realize anything is missing.
Life is the one you see at parties
and you just can't remember it's name
so you just use dude, or homie.
But life isn't your ******* homie.
It robs you blind at your most vulnerable moments
and laughs as everything is crashing down.
Seems to me it sometimes has a soft side though
giving you a little slack when things are going too bad again.
Things are going pretty bad again-
but life doesn't have time for my **** anymore
it has a kid on the way
and I think he named it suicide.
The spawn is what keeps you up at night
when life can't handle you anymore
and you can't handle it.
There's suicide knocking at your door
but it doesn't leave a bag of ****
It's just there-
reminding you all the time, it's there.
You used to babysit it-
feed it, give it nutrients to grow
but you realized it was too much work
and it was just intensely bringing you down.
So you had a dinner date with optimism
and you agreed to get back together.
But sometimes you wake up at 4am
and suicide is crying again begging you to hold it-
maybe even acknowledge it's existence..
You want to-
every ******* day you want to
just to stop the crying.
But you realize it's not your ******* child
it will never be your child-
and at this point it's getting a little too old to be babysat.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC
Another college tour, another favor. This time it was an old schoolmate, George and his parents who were taking the official tour. I was going to babysit his little sister Mary (5) while they walked around.
It was good to see someone from home and sad in a way. For a moment, I had a tugging feeling, like there was a hook deep inside me and the reel was back home.
When I first saw George I remembered a time, in 10th grade, before COVID. I was leaving school early and waiting to be picked up. Twenty track boys, fresh from their daily run, were lounging, seductively around. George, in particular, in a pose rather like Michelangelo’s Adam. *** I remember thinking at the time.
I smiled at that long-ago tableau. “What?” George asked, he was watching me. “Nothing,” I smiled, “Just looking forward to babysitting”
Mary and I exercised to a video, had a pizza delivered and colored - crayons aren’t easy to find in the modern college environment so we used high-lighters to create delicate, watercolor-like masterpieces.
As we drew, Mary said, off-handedly, “You’re really nice,” as if the nature of my character had been in some dispute. Still, I still felt warmly complemented.
When the tour was over, we were walking up science hill toward their car and the sun was declining to sunset. “How do you like it,” George asked, confidentially, head lowered, voice low enough not to be overheard by his parents who were walking a few yards behind us with Mary. “There’s a LOT of reading,” I said, shruggingly. “but I’m keeping up.” Last year I was a junior, this year I’m in college. It seemed absurd.
How do you conjure a vision for someone of what college would be like, when college experiences are so individual? The writer's dilemma, interpreted by a babysitter.
As we reached their car, the caroling bells started ringing (5pm) from Harkness Tower. It was the perfect send-off. Again I felt the pull of homesickness but my phone plinked and the emotion didn’t even last as long as dusk.
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 7:39 AM UTC
"Ill do that" she said
She was so always eager to please
But then quick to anger
"No worries I'll fix it"
She always said
In return she got a warm smile
"I'll babysit for the coming years"she said
"I'll be a listening ear" she said
"What do you need help with " she said
"Have you eaten " she said
"You sick we need a doctor" she said
Then her cup got empty
She couldn't pour anymore
Yet she felt guilty that
she couldn't give,
That she blamed them for it
Her path became thorny
In return she tortured herself
Became her worst nightmare
And then she met him
He promised her love beyond this realm
That she was the purest soul he has met
What she was,still is ,is a torture device designed specifically for her
She should be validated
And he would make her understand that
He became he refill
A therapist she could divulge her secrets to
But she forgot he was human
She forgot her touch was sinister
She tainted him too
And he threw that to her face
And she couldn't blame him,or them for that
Because there is always more to the story
She might be her author
But what she paints,what she writes
Would never be the full story
Because even she alternates between being a victim in her story
But what stays more constant is she must be the villian in this story
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 2:58 AM UTC
Recommended a new paradigm
Think I maybe dying all the time
They say using building
blocks of creation to
dream with you?
Inherent and obvious danger
In that darling
Pray a little simple
prayer for all of us.
Sacred
You must
We must
wait a while
language doesn't exist
Working on it.
Bards are here
We will babysit while...
They treat with Sultans of Song
The chemist, chirugeon,
the watcher, the statesman
on the Bubbahub
Zee's the lynch pin
He's holding it down,
With a little buckdance
He knows what I mean
Different language
Cadence, ritmo
Seven sicilian sailors
Sailing the seven seas
Storm is passing
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:48 PM UTC
The new family dog
sits at the table
with sugar in his cereal
I talk to him so he won’t be lonely.
I ask him how his day was.
He looks at me
through his brown dog eyes
sitting in the chaos
of a hallucinatory disease.
I sit at the sidelines
of gradual Death.
I babysit him on weekends
and even from the shore, i can see him
on his island
chasing the tail
of dissipating thoughts.
He wasn’t always a dog.
He had a big bushy afro.
And a truckers moustache
that got him attention from the ladies.
He managed an automotive parts franchise
and travelled often.
He owned twelve of the worlds finest tobacco pipes, and
smoked *** out of all of them.
He married the love of his life
at 19 years old.
When the doctor told them, she would never bear children.
But he watched
four boys become men.
And only two were adopted.
He became a grandfather
and every passover, he sat in the throne
of a kingdom
he built.
His grandchildren
loved him
unconditionally.
When he tells me these stories now,
he sits behind glass, where he watches the kingdom.
Without him.
Sitting at the breakfast table, I want him to know:
I love you, I can’t help you.
I love you—
Goodbye.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
A red lipstick stain on a smiling
stranger's cheek
A woman bragging frantically
about her perfect peach
tree on some gardener's TV
The look of pure relief
shared between a mother and her son
after she's looked all over the grocery store
to find his quick little traveling legs
The scent of **** catching in my nose
as I roll down the window in a random
parking lot & the distant laughter that follows
Twelve year olds holding hands in the mall
The fresh gloss on their lips from that
messy, pre-teen kiss
Watching my best friends write lyrics
Pitching in with small thoughts and
more precise words
And then singing along at the top of my lungs
When the pit opens up
at a small venue, one week later
An old man sitting silently
Reading "Dancing at the Harvest Moon"
with a gentle smile at my local library
He doesn't notice me
Two straight lovers screaming "legalize gay"
at the marriage equality march last May
Painting tiny little finger nails
when I've been asked to babysit
four small angels
Shady trees on painfully sunny days
And the look on your face when you talk
about the things you know so well
I get lost
I lose my breath
And I am in love with everything
At least during these short glimpses
of a beautiful world
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
Time is only a peace keeper.
Left to babysit the helpless.
It leaves us in handcuffs wrestling with priorities for the sane-less.
We fold our hands and twiddle our thumbs
hoping for silence which never comes.
We are broken in the shadows of a downtrodden land
and we are never affixed to see what it is that holds us to the ground.
I reach for something so far in the distance,
it's as if I'm a toddler grasping for vision.
I don't walk without stumbling and I promise you I'm not perfect.
But how in this world are we supposed to live with purpose?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
Hi, my name is Autumn and I’m an addict
If you knew me, you’d know my life was tragic
Prescription drug abuse and two eating disorders
couldn’t get me down
The thought of my past, however,
is enough to make me frown
I look in the mirror, and I see my mother’s figure
The resemblance is so quaint, it makes me shiver
I look in the mirror, and I see her nose
I’ve gone through a lot, and in my face it shows
I was very young, not even eight years old
When my mother turned to alcohol and began to grow cold
She would always reprimand my father, calling him a ****
Just because he spent all of his time at work
Her boyfriends would come, and they would go
Mother cheated on them while they were babysitting me,
Little did they know
Her hands looked so delicate, but they dealt me much damage
Yet a sweet, polite young lady was something
I could always manage
The truth is, she was never truly emotionally attached to me
Her life was not at all like she wanted it to be
She blamed it on me, but you’d never hear her say it
Always calling me a pest, useless, a piece of ****
I never had a childhood,
I had to babysit mother like any good daughter would
so I’m like a callous disney princess
Hating the world, yet still sweet,
looking for a palace and a prince to meet
I can’t hate my mother, no matter how hard I try
She still has this power over me, this I can’t deny
I live with my grandmother now, from my father’s side
Karma got Mother, her unhappiness she tries to hide
Although our relationship has improved
The scars will never subside
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Can you blame me? Yea I was in and out the bed, goin to and from men, looking for affection.
You can love another child that's not yours, give them hugs, buy them gifts, all the while treating my like **** like I'm some kid off the streets. Or some so so child you gotta babysit?
I'm sorry for the things I've done, but this wouldn't have happened, if you hadn't did what you done.
You gave me all I wanted in the world for a minute, but then I mess up, own up, and you dismiss me like 'forget it'? Not even a third chance, you brushed me off like dirt on your pants.
You expect me to strong, but you don't answer when I call, and you get angry when someone talks to you about me, and then put me at fault, when really your the one that made the push that ultimately led to my fall.
You told me you'd always be there, that you'd love me through it all, but clearly all you care about is that woman you call your wife, she's just temporary,at anytime she could drop out your life.
But me? I'm permanent. You can take that to the bank, but daddy why I gotta ask; for me do you have so much hate?
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 2:12 AM UTC
Dad it has been eight long years since you have been gone
The Parkinson's and heart condition took there toll
I believe there is a part of you that remains in my heart and soul
You taught me so much many lessons I caught from you
You taught me to try my best and be strong no matter what health struggles some my way
You taught me that it is OK when food touches each other on my plate it mixes together in the end any way so just eat it don't complain
You taught me that you can't always buy what you want in life it is more important to get what you need
You taught me that it is good to do a good deed
You taught me to respect my elders
You taught me to try to live by The Golden Rule
You gave me some work ethic by having me help on the farm
You tried to protect me from harm I know now that you couldn't protect me from all harm
You advised me not to upset a swarm of bee's in a hive
You showed me so much you were always willing to lend a helping hand
You often would babysit when my kids were little and would give me money to help out with something the kids really needed
I don't know if I got a chance to thank you each and every time, to you and mom I'm indebted
You were a great Dad indeed I Love You and miss you so much You made a difference in those lives you touched, some of lifes best lesson's are not just taught but caught
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC