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I suppose Im ever curious-
Suppose Im never serious-
Or always am-
These hallways jam-
I feel forever furious-

But…
What…
Do I have to be angry for?
Dad says “Theres a lot you should thank me for.”
But some days I don’t agree with him
Some days I just dont speak with him-
Because I know that he’ll ask me about the bank some more.

No,
Dear Dad,
there’s not a penny there-
You tell me to be thankful cause what I got’s plenty fair-
Some days I don’t agree with you,
Some days I just cant speak to you-
Some days I just wish that you had your money spared-

But,
No,
No, No That cant be right-
You’re not paying for the jewels or the fancy lights-
Nor my tuition,
“Sarah listen-
You’re my seed, Cant you see Im trying to plant you right?”

Maybe,
Father,
But Im not a lazy daughter,
And I feel as though your feeding me with some very shady water-
Its hazy,
Its crazy,
With the way he martyrs-
Maybe-
We’ll stay see-
I pray he’s smarter-

Than I give him credit for-
He’s all about his credit score-
With debit stored-
You’d think he’d spend it?
Forget it,
He’d never let it soar-

And Am I pathetic for…

Expecting to see his face at the show I did?
I wasn’t that upset, I didn’t blow my lid-
Nor did I expose anything that had rose within-
“I’ll make the next one I can go to kid.”

Ive had a few more, you didnt go to "kid".

Some day’s I want to argue til my tonsils pull-
Some days I know he just wants me to be responsible-
Some days I don’t agree with him-
Some day I wont be needing him-
Some day I wont be dealing with this constant pull-


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Comments

The following comments are for "Dear Dad"
by Essence

personal psalms
or meditative/ ritualistic chants, that’s what these struck me as, each stanza engaging a different level of realisation, stripping away a layer from the relationship, enabling narrator and reader both to see it exposed to the bare bones…

this is great process poetry, and the ritual is cleansing, I think, because the anger here allows for self-awareness- that one day the poem’s I “won’t be needing him”- but also for compassion- that the poem’s Dad is just a “kid”, more so than the narrator… there is a strength of self to be proud of in this.

thank you for sharing.

( Posted by: AuldMiseryGuts [Member] On: October 1, 2007 )

Dear Kid
Dad's are only people
they are not God's.
Why is it then
our kids beat us with rods?

It's true that only kids
are ever right.
I wonder then
why do I even fight?

It's not my job
to give a helping hand?
To only have it burned
with each demand!

My dad is dead
I listen to him now.
He had his faults
forgotten now somehow.

He never ever listened
to us kids.
He just provided
money, food and digs.

I said I'd dance in joy
upon his grave.
But in my head
it's now his words I save.

He never was around
to see me win.
Too busy making sure
I wasn't thin

I'm now a dad
and have been for a while
It's me, not him
who now faces this trial.

I'm sure my kids
are sure to all agree.
That I should try
a batter dad to be.

The world has changed
and Dads are not aware.
The many problems that
their children share.

Some days I want to argue,
arkward sod?
No, just a Dad
and not a bloody God!






( Posted by: ivordavies [Member] On: October 5, 2007 )

Imperfect
Again, sorry about the typo's, but I'm just a Dad!

( Posted by: ivordavies [Member] On: October 5, 2007 )





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