A third of you want to
Play pretend, like Barbie and Ken.
Americas a dream house in a
Dreamland.

As if we aren’t all feeling the
Same fires or drowning in
the same
Waters.

We need you to
Pay attention too.
Ignorance may seem like
Bliss for now

A third of you want to
Stay uninformed
Negligence is a nod
To the oppressor to
Go on and push through

A third of you will see a
Third of us dead on the
Streets and try to weep.

You were not a small man.
Not quiet, gentle, or humble.
I learned that early—
in the way your voice filled a room before you did,
in the way silence never meant peace,
only waiting.

I remember the sound of you coming home,
entering the front door,
and you spoke like thunder.
Your presence WAS kind of like weather-
something I couldn’t predict,
but learned to live around.

You had your storms.
And I had mine.
And maybe neither of us
ever really understood
where they began.

You didn’t always know how to be close.
I didn’t always know how to reach you.
We missed each other in small, everyday ways—
in the questions we didn’t ask,
in the silences.
There were words we couldn’t find,
spaces between us
that neither of us knew how to cross.

Still,
there were moments,
shared unexpectedly.
A softness that showed up
without warning,
and left just as quietly.
“I feel like you’re the only person on my side today.”

You didn’t always get it right.
But you tried, a lot of the time, actually.
And I see that now,
in ways I couldn’t before.
Those moments
where you were soft
were rare,
but I saw the man you wanted to be.

You made a lot of choices,
and I,
I make a lot of excuses
trying to forgive you.
Sometimes I still can’t.

I’ve grown into someone
you didn’t quite know,
but you helped shape anyway.
And I carry you—
not always easily,
but honestly.
You were not simple.
Neither is grief.
But there is love here.
Always was.
Even if it didn’t look the way we hoped.

You didn’t understand me.
Not really.
I didn’t understand you either—
not the weight you carried,
not the damage you inherited and passed on
without meaning to,
or maybe not knowing how to stop.

But
you really did love me.
In your way.
And I loved you.
In mine.

I turned out alright.
Better, even.
And sometimes I feel guilty saying that.
like surviving you is a betrayal.

You were not all bad.
You were not all good.
You were a storm I came through,
and a story I’m still learning how to tell.

And I miss you.
Even now.
Even still.
Even after everything.
I miss you in ways
I didn’t know I would.

Before you left in December,
I asked if you had advice for me.
You didn’t hesitate.
“Just take one day at a time, sweetie.”
And then, when it was time to go:
“Be careful. I love you.”

I had the longest month of my life, Dad.
I turned thirty and you didn’t turn fifty-five and I still don’t know what to do with that.
I’m just taking it one day at a time.

You called me darling, a name just for me,
A love so pure, as deep as the sea.
No matter how busy, you always found time,
To play, to laugh, to make life shine.

You brought me chocolates, a sweet little treat,
Never once letting me feel incomplete.
No wish was too big, no dream too far,
You moved mountains to gift me the stars.

Through sleepless nights, you held my hand,
When I was weak, you’d help me stand.
If I was hungry, you’d go without,
Your love, unwavering, beyond all doubt.

In my darkest hour, you were my light,
A guiding star burning ever so bright.
With every answer, with every care,
You made me fearless, beyond despair.

People call me strong, they don’t see,
That you were the one who built that in me.
No man, no force could bring me down,
For you made me a queen, deserving a crown.

But now you're gone, and I feel so alone,
The one love I had, the truest I've known.
The world feels empty, cold and wide,
Without you standing by my side.

Yet, deep inside, your strength remains,
In every heartbeat, in every vein.
Though I can’t see you, I know you’re near,
Whispering "darling," calm and clear.

So I’ll stand tall, though my heart may ache,
For you gave me a strength no one can take.
And when I falter, when I fall,
I’ll hear your voice—your love through all.

" Whenever I have to have a difficult conversation with someone or it is an important topic, I always talk to them. Lots of times I don't want too.
    You can't go back in time. It is hard to tell people difficult things. When it is appropriate you can tell her that in person. "

My father is dying a snail slow death I think.
I don't quite know how to tell him to kindly stop dying.
Once I had the flu at 15 and he cleaned the sick off me
and said nothing of it after. That was kind of him.

There was something of a man in him. Hard to find,
turns out of men. Decency rattles and bites and burrows.
I wished at one point I would find on him that would
figure it out for me. Heretofore is sorry luck, love.

Dear dad

Dad, daddy, papa, pop, Baba,— but you weren’t ever quite my father, I hate the term step dad, especially with you— you treated me with sweetness that was almost bitter, you coddled me but you made me brave, you made me: me.


Without my dad, without you in my life I wouldn’t be the bold young lady, and man I’ve growing to be, with the taste for a thrill and humor I’ve held onto right— you were the father I had, one of the Two: though through the parody I call my life, you were indefinitely my favorite dad, daddy, papa, pop, baba.


To you my step dad, my step— can’t quite make the mark, my not so perfect yet fun role model this is your unearned apology:


So my dear,  dad, daddy, papa, pop and baba—I am sorry, I am sorry for still caring about you even though you have exited my life, I’m sorry that I could never quite figure out wether I loved you or not, I’m sorry for never trying the food you wanted me too— even when you offer to pay me. I am sorry for forgetting whether I forgive you or not.



But nevertheless I am not sorry for. my dear dad, daddy, papa, pop, baba for hating you for you out lashes, the stench of alcohol you reeked of after and during every argument, I am not sorry for looking at you with betrayal, I will never forgive you for what you put my mother through, and what you put my brothers through.


You are my dad, my daddy, my papa, my pops, my baba and my father— but I need to take a step back, dear step dad, I hope you forgive me for that.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.

Dad says the house must be clean,
or my friend can’t come.
He is coming tomorrow—he really is.

The vacuum only holds so much.
I work all day.
My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.

But it’s not clean.
I sweep and sweep—maybe I weep.
The tears stain. It’s not clean.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.
As soon as it’s clean.

I put my toys away.
I stack and stack,
boxed and neat.
But I imagine a game.
I play alone—still make a stain.

My friend is coming today.
No—my friend is coming tomorrow.
My daddy says so.
As soon as it’s clean.
Yet I’m still playing alone

My body still carries the home I grew up in
I am still hiding from my father's anger
My mother's disappointment
Drowning them out was easier
When they did not speak with my own voice