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Poetry: My dad

His mom died giving birth to him
and left with a father who couldn't care
that hated him for what he had presumably stolen from him
He grew

A skinny little boy who only wanted to play
and be a kid
Beaten black and blue
lying in bed afraid
praying for the day
When it would stop.
It never did!

One day the pain was more than he could face
and he ran away.
Little more than half a child


he hid in a neighbors barn
till he could get further away
And he did.

He worked the logging trails
Leading horses in and out
Ran errands for the boss.
Anything to survive
Till the day he hoped would come
that he would have time to play.

But he married instead
A woman already pregnant with another man's son
and he became a man
before he had even grown into one.

So he sits and sings songs
pick an old guitar that he has bought
Plays songs for his children
As they came
One by one.

With no education
He works with his hands
His back and his wits
Always a step away from the bank
trying to take away what he has made.

A dollar in his pocket and he feels like a king.
A woman at home who wears his ring.
Six kids to share his name.

Not too many people knew why
he would never be angry or hurt enough
to raise his hand
to any one of his kids.
Instead he would just look hurt
and then silently walk away.

My dad
What could he have been
if circumstances
had been just a little different
for him?

Learn more about this author, Lady Mermaid.
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Below are the top articles rated and ranked by Helium members on:

Poetry: My dad

  • 1 of 100

    by Lady Mermaid

    His mom died giving birth to him
    and left with a father who couldn't care
    that hated him for what he had presumably stolen

    read more

  • 2 of 100

    by Catherine Henry

    PLEASE TELL ME ANOTHER STORY

    Tell me another story daddy
    Please, tell me one.
    Especially about the pig
    when you were very young.

    read more

  • 3 of 100

    by ydobon

    It's your birthday Dad

    But you don't know it

    It's not a celebration though

    Or a memorial

    A commemoration?

    I don't think so.

    read more

  • 4 of 100

    by Oral Nussbaum

    Aldis Nussbaum

    Daddy, let's look in the closet,

    there might be some things we need there.

    some old dusty feelings,

    an

    read more

  • 5 of 100

    by Michelle Grismer

    So big and strong with hands of steel.

    Yet never forgetting what was important and what was real.

    Love for his family, his

    read more

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Poetry: My dad

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