Black Poetry : Daddy's little sperm

Soullyricist

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Jun 23, 2003
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I spent a long time wanting to not write this.
I spent even longer dying not to feel this
Oh, but it is felt
I felt it when I was three and my preschool teacher new something was wrong with me
This child just cries and weeps like demons are covering her eyes
My eyes may have been covered but I was wide-awake to the reality that my father became my daddy before I ever had a chance to need him
My mother in her meekness became a single parent and to me she was superwoman
A superwoman who ran out of super power
When it came down to that man that ****ed around on her what seemed like every hour
And I never really new
It was never presented in front of me for my eyes to see
But I new
I new that
“I have a date with your dad” meant that
“We’re still having sex because I can’t bring myself to accept that there should be another man in my life but him”
And so subconsciously I read her heart throwing her appearance and the words that left her lips eternally to the dark.
I wasn’t around when he did his devilish deeds laying his hands where they definitely shouldn’t be
Should not have been
My mother was a queen who’s only drastic sin was wanting never ever to give up on him, that man, that frame I see which ultimately looks like nothing to me
I have a hard time referring to him as my closest kin because the closest we’ve ever been is in a picture I can’t even remember Christmas morning laying in the bed staring at him
My sister and me shared him but she’s grown now to despise him more than me probably.
I grew up having to respect my daddy because of the mere fact that he is my daddy. I was naive then
My mother thought she wasn’t doing the right thing trying to get me to believe that I can depend on him
Why?
Because he bought me my first car when I turned 16 something he had promised me since the beginning of the beginning.
I’m sorry but no
I respect him not because of who he is to me because that boils down to pretty much of nothing
I respect the simple fact that he makes my mother happy in some state I don’t even think she understands
I sit and try to find a piece of positive that has come out of that man and the only thing I can come up with is his semen that coincided with an egg to make me
I’m ok with him being a distant relative and he was distant until my mothers dream came true and he was back in the house he left for 10 years in an instant.
And that’s ok, because I don’t have to be there
I don’t have to look in his eyes and despise the fact that he’s in my presence.
I don’t have to relive him bringing up the 11 other children he brought in this world with other women because he didn’t want to control his ****, or better yet, because he was terrified of commitment
I don’t have to relive him putting his hands on me, him treating my children like ****
I don’t have to live with it, but my mother does, and she can stand it
Because somehow she forgave it.
And I’m working on that, riding that devilish rat that hates him
But in my process she compels me to treat him like she does, when he does absolutely nothing for me and never has
I enter the house, speak with respect and look through him like glass
And I’m content with that.
Don’t try to persuade me to carry on lengthy consultations with a man I don’t even know
The man who after 60 some odd years realizes his faults and still won’t admit to them she wants me to respect him, because he’s my daddy??
I respect him because he makes you happy
And that’s as far down that road as I will travel.
I can get over the fact that he sat me down when I was 16 with a ****ing white board
Explaining to his children how he was a little whore
I can forgive that he treated my mother like **** on his shoe
I can forgive I grew up with 11 other brothers and sisters I had no clue about
I can take his attitude and I can take his clout
Because I’m not with it
What I can’t take is my mother on my back trying to get me to care what he thinks or does about me
Because literally I could give two ****s
Don’t tell me to call him on Christmas to say hi
On Father’s day to say thanks for that sperm that made me
Because a child should do that freely
And everything I have done for that man has been persuaded by you
And frankly I’m jaded and tired of the excuses you make for him
He’s daddy
He’ll always be daddy to me
He’ll always be that glass frame I see
And he’ll always be the man who loves himself more than me


© Tawanda Roberson
 

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