I longed for perfection in walls that looked like tragedy
Forgotten pieces of happiness sink to the bottom of a pool of dreams.
I am my father’s worst nightmare.
He had another one
A daughter he believes cannot love him the way he wants her to.
She clings to her mother faithfully,
Hands held like secrets whispered in the dark
Her mother is her shield…
He calls to me, berates me, smirks.
My mother steps in between us like a dancer
Gracefully taking the stage to her performance,
Yuh too mudda struck he says
Then his words fall mute.
I loved him, but my love was always killing me
A poison I had grown accustomed to
No one could save us, mother did try.
Yuh mudda struck!
He laughs like it’s a bad thing
Like I stepped in shit
Like I came out wrong and it was
Him that could make me right again.
He says these words to me daily
They were the worst things he could declare,
Bad words, curse words
That were supposed to leave me wincing in pain
Leave me gasping, surprised, or full of guilt.
It was like I was carrying around a scar only he could see.
If he only knew how badly I longed for him– a father.
I longed to love him if he let me
Believing a daughter needed her father too
But he never let himself become one.
He stood apart from me,
Instead of knowing how to love, chased us away.
Still not grasping what my mother was doing.
MUDDA STRUCK I was and he would spew
While she shielded me from his poison.
Because If anyone would know its lethality, it would be her.
Never letting me simmer in it knowing what he was capable of
Wanting his child and yet denying her, lambasting her, chastising her.
Father spelled with confusion and emotional wreckage
I am the result.
But just imagine how much worse it would have been.
I would walk the rooms of our house listening to the echoes of his words
Wishing I was father struck instead
So he could love me the way he was supposed to…
On the day they lower him to sleep for the last time,
I thought of nothing else.
If only he understood his wreckage now.
Angela V. St. Pierre- Maynard