Black Poetry : Open Letter to Dad

[daroc]

Open Letter to Dad:
With every inch of my soul I confess:
I am a writer.
I am your daughter, regardless of how much we both run from that simple fact.
I don’t hate you.
Fact remains,
I once was
Daddy’s little lady.
Riding horses knee high from the ground,
I was spoiled,
To expect diamonds, birth stones, and clothes not just at birthdays or holidays.
You taught me:
That giving shouldn’t be as selfish as child support or receipts.
Or that love cannot be bought during back to school time,
After countless weeks of not seeing your face.
I guess,
I learned more from you
Than I ever realized.
The truth is….
As much as I deny you in my life,
My genes, body, and medical history is link to your faults.
When something is wrong with me,
when I look in the mirror,
and face myself…
I can’t help but answer my father has
This same bone structure,
Thyroids,
Smile,
Carpal tunnel
Fingernails,
that same extra muscle on the bottom of my foot,
Math skills,
Aquarius,
Left Handed,
Intelligent,
Misunderstood,
This last name,
The same desire to be loved,
Unconditionally.
What are the chances that,
I too,
Will not be able to withstand eating dinner with mental.
Instead,
You use the hand that once touched me,
To pick up plastic.
Don’t burn your tongue.
Truth is,
I know more about you
Than I want to believe.
But yet,
You don’t even know my address,
Who I am
My favorite color,
What I majored in college,
The car I drive,
When my book is coming out,
Or that I am writing a book,
Do you even know I write more than I bleed, Dad?
Or why I refuse to get caught up and chose to do me first,
My favorite things to cook,
How hard I love,
That I love candles, incenses, and reading,.
Or even my boyfriends name.
What do you know about me, Dad?
Since I left my hometown at 17…
I find that,
You don’t even know how to ease in my life without being seen or heard.
But simply felt. I don’t like inconsistency or disruption without consideration for all details.
I find that,
You don’t know my story and I am sure you don’t need to,
In order to be my dad.
I find that,
You don’t know how to show me love,
Because you haven’t been doing it for so long.
Maybe-You just don’t know,
And that statement should be enough for me.
But it is not.
Your ignorance to flip scripts,
To be invisibly there,
Love from afar,
To be an absent and only present
-When your heart yearns for understanding-
Father.
But flashbacks, memories, visions, desires, haunt my emotions.
What of the time I spent
Being a child,
Not understanding why adults can’t come around,
When weekends became vacations from mom,
And get aways with dads,
But even those stopped.
I miss Sundays at Church, Old Country Buffet, and the movies.
I do remember happy days.
What of the time I spent,
Not playing a sport because no one would show,
You didn’t even see me get ready for prom,
Twice,
Or how about you showing up,
To my high school graduation.
Yellow roses
When I love
tulips: the only flower that continues to grow after being cut.
And yellow
It means friendship,
Something we were far from.
But I remember bringing my high school boyfriend by,
hanging out, talking sometimes about personal stuff.
I keep telling myself, I do remember happy days.
What of the time I spent
In college,
2 years going unnoticed.
Left home to accomplish
Yet loving from afar seems like a process.
And when invited to that graduation,
You never showed,
Blamed traveling as an expense you couldn’t afford.
I was the bigger person then,
When whispers told me not to even invite you.
Your only child to finish with a Bachelor’s degree,
and you- a no go.
I remember a lot of excuses,
so many I just stopped asking to stop hearing them.
I spent countless years,
Reminding myself you are still my father.
Cried countless tears,
Telling myself that hatred for you is hatred for myself.
I wrote poems about men,
I wanted to love,
When all I really needed was yours.
Searched for acceptance and understanding,
all the while wishing it came from at home.
After realizing how broken I was inside,
I put time to work becoming a lady,
That neither you or my mother sometimes know or see.
Went through struggles and situations
That if I attempted to tell you-
You wouldn’t want to accept.
Growing up a woman away from everything you know is
The hardest, best, most challenging but rewarding experience I can ever list.
But a need for understanding still calls me.
What of the time I spent,
Calling mommy’s boyfriend step-dad.
He saw me blossom from 12 years old until now.
While you lived blocks away taking care of another’s seed.
And everyone wonders why its so hard for me to accept these circumstances.
What of the moments I cannot recall,
Because emotions ran high,
Or I just fail to file it all.
I know there has to be happy memories somewhere in all this.
What about all this time you spend calling me.
Trying now after random days pass by,
To wait for holidays to remind you of how much you miss me,
Or simply that you have a daughter who lives in Atlanta.
Since that is where I live, Dad.
I am just puzzled,
Why didn’t you call on April 7, 2010.
Or how about June 20th,
September 6th,
November 1st.
On any given day when you are moving with the same breath that has given me life.
Why wait for holidays to ring me,
Why wait for holidays to ask me what I need,
Why wait?
I am turning 25 this year.
A turning point,
some believe.
Funny because your birthday is 3 days after mine,
and even though I stopped calling,
I never forget it.
It’s just a reminder of all this time I spent lingering.
Only for me to tell you my confessions:
I hate inconsistency.
If you want to be there
-be there-
I am growing and that means I am trying to do better.
Love hurts.
And so the truths remains:
I miss everything I didn’t have.
But I don’t know how that is even possible.
You are a stranger to me branded father prior to me becoming a teenager.
I don’t know you anymore.
I must admit- I take some responsibility for keeping you out of my life.
But sometimes its easier to block it all out, and live as if you are not even present.
I just know I don’t hate you.
And that should be enough.
Sadly,
My friends,
Twitter followers, BBM buddies, Facebook network,
Knows more about me than you do.
And all you have to is read.
Go to my website for once.
Did you even know my alias is Joski Diesel?
Call on random days.
Ask the right questions besides how is work.
I want you to ask me how my love life is, what are my goals,
and how far am I from achieving the next one.
Or say the right things-besides Happy Thanksgiving or Merry Christmas-
Because even a Christmas tree and a present, cannot bring back all the wasted time.
So start spending your more wisely.
Grand-Dad.
I am just fine.
Thanks for asking.

 

[$$RICH$$]

well felt wow ....by the way i removed the link it's not allowed

 

[baller]

deeply felt.

so many absentee fathers
and present-but-not-involved fathers
and daughters wishing for their fathers
and fathers who don't know their daughters
and doesn't bother
getting to know them.

i hope this void is filled someday
in some POSITIVE way
where a healing is allowed
and you can be proud
of that name you carry
before losing it when you marry
~ if you lose it...or if you marry

i hope you child and father get to know one another
and that his/her father is present and accountable
and not a continuation of a cycle
of absentee fathers

LOVEDEDIT.

 

[daroc]

Thanks again for the read, love, and comment! Peace Peace