Friday, May 2, 2008

   I'm in the writing mood today....
(FATHER)

Dad.
I wonder if you ever hear what you talk about.
Spending hours and hours preaching on stuff that don't make sense.
I listen but I can't hear what you're saying
cuz I'm blocking it out,
just like I blocked out those words
when ya called momma fat and I take after her, daddy.
Am I fat too?

I block out those times you're beating my baby brother
ears plugged up with stubby fingers,
humming nursery rhymnes that you never recited to me.
Daddy, do you know who I am?
Your daughter, you're flesh and blood, naw, Daddy.

Cuz I'm still here
and you're lookin' over there
tryin' find excuses for the reasons why I haven't seen you in years.
Yeah, your face is here and the body's connected...
but where's my daddy?

Harold Simmons must have died long ago,
leaving Walid in his place,
carrying with him the religion and prejudices which you used to hate
and Daddy, when I cry you don't even care...

Just because I'm not preaching Muhammad's words don't mean I don't have a mind.
I'm reaching behind for the bullets and the gun,
holding with me the words to my chest that stung,
all those years ago but now I'm chill...
Now those words are my protection,
the words I can hide behind.

Cuz Daddy...
I wonder when you'll realize that I'm waiting for you to
Pull me out the gutter and-
hug me.

Waiting for the man I knew held me on his knee and read to me,
who took me driving at 2am to help me sleep.
I'm wondering where he's gone,
and I'm praying for your death,
praying to a god that, because of you, I no longer have faith in.

Cuz, Daddy you might call yourself my dad,
and you might discipline me like my poppa,
but, Daddy...
I want my father.

_____________________________________________

Yeah, I'd never give to my dad. He's probably kill me.
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