F-a-t-h-e-r

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Last night…

I had the most interesting dream.

In it, I was six years old…

in a national spelling bee.

Feeling like a genius as I spelled complex words….

duodenum….

serendipity…..

floccinaucinihilipilification….

up until the final round

one word between me and victory

the spell master clears his throat

young lady your word is father

the crowd began to chatter amongst themselves

seemingly displeased

at the simplicity of this final word

I searched for those eyes

those eyes that say

“every things going to be ok, just do it”

And there she was, as beautiful as always…

I dazed off

young lady!

your word is father

I stood up straight, looked at her and began

father, m-o-t-h-e-r, father…

the spell master looks at me,

down at his flash card,

back up at me,

“sorry but you are incorrect”

I don’t understand…

My father is sitting right in the audience

“excuse me?”

“I am sorry young lady but you are incorrect”

well then,

you can save your sorry apologies

because you must mean “in-correct”

as in within the parameters of being right.

let me explain something to you

cuz obviously you did not grow up

where “father’s” are donors

just a human being who donates the soil to make the seed grow

and when he’s gone

all he’s left us

was alone

where minstrel men stroll around off sight

while fathers balanced their menstrual,

3 jobs,

4 kids

and a life

on a unicycle

and it looks something like this:

breastfeeding on one arm

phone on the shoulder

cooking with the other arm

cleaning with one leg

tying sneakers with their teeth

young fathers

who make mistakes to think that love lived in their place, before he left

But we are not all perfect and they learned to live

And the one mistake they never make

is abandoning their seeds

you see fathers

are master gardeners

they tend to every leaf

removing the weeds

placing us in the windows of opportunity

so that we can lean towards the sun

and never forget that the sky is the limit

planting kisses on our cheeks

hugs on our backs

growing their love on us

the best way they know how

like my father

my father, sacrificed owning nothing,

so that I may have everything

my father, walked a daily nightmare

so that I may live out my dreams

my father watered me

with blood sweat and tears

so that I may be ripe

for the harvest

and I hope that one day

I can grow up to be as great a father

as she was for me

you did not ask me to spell deadbeat sir…

but if you want dead beat here it is:

f-a-t-h-e-r,
d-a-d,
d-a-d-d-y,
p-o-p,
p-o-p-s,
if you want the slang

And if you want an actual name…

F-r-a-n-k

you asked me to spell father

and father is, and always has been,

and always will be spelled…

m-o-t-h-e-r

so get your encyclopedias,

show me your flash cards

open your dictionary

cuz what webster says

means nothing around here

around here,

my father is sitting right there…

and I love her.

Because with out my father, with out her, I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you today.

Happy Father’s Day to my wonderful, wonder woman who is now in Heaven watching over me♡

I love you momma 🙂

Kbeautifulmind

-This entire poem did not originate with me, it is a remake of a poem I once heard.
Thank you for reading…

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