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My Father (a Poem About My Complicated Relationship With My Family.)

Israel is a writer and student studying for her Master's Degree in English and Creative Writing.

Ranting about Writing in General

I am not one to complain about the rhetoric of modern society, but I am anguished at the level of disregard people have for creativity. I fully understand that STEM jobs are important, and they pay well, but I am seeing a lack in people having an eye for sophisticated word play because of less emphasis of literature. Stories are a fundamental part of human life, and it is something we can not turn away from. Humans used to be occupied with oral tradition, and it is something that is still important to how we learn and grow. Most ideas are spread using music, movies, and film. Therefore, it is ridiculous to consider the notion that all fiction writing is useless.


The Story Behind the Poem

However, this rant is not the most important facet of my article. I am sharing today one of my poems with my conflicted relationship with my father. He is a man that has given me many things, but he also has deprived me of his love because of mental conditions that make him incapable to fully love. Therefore, I have many scars from this toxic relationship, but I feel fully recovered from the pain of this hardship over many years. It took in depth analysis of my actions, but I feel something has been exhumed from me and gratitude is my only feeling towards the situation.


My Father

Liars are made up of well-intended truths,
And refutation of simple facts,
My aging father is the epitome of this condition,
He carries lies in scars against his children,
Buries my good mercy in great fogs of misconduct,
And I must pretend to hold a deep smile,
Sink my ankles into his brain,
And pierce together my perfect narrative.

But, forget this, for he is also my final savior,
He gives me money as his form of love,
I build this bleaching edifice with all his lies,
"He loved her."
"He loves me."
"He'll come home."
My father is a man of beautiful prose,
Crying as he covers his faint, crocodile skin,
Cooing with satisfaction of distant mind games,
Rubbing dirt against his spectacles,
Concealing the spiral of his loose actions.

My good father is a traitor and lover,
He loves too much to stay in one home,
He travels through exotic women,
giving them hope and promises of engagement,
Only for them to fall into shallow pledges,
And they make their own sinking holes.

© 2020 Sarah Litchney


Millicent Okello from Nairobi, Kenya on September 11, 2020:

If only i could let another friend see what is in this poem, what a beautiful writing.

Mitara N from South Africa on March 27, 2020:

This is a beautiful, and inspirational piece. I admire you for all that you have gone through, coming out of it all your own person, and never losing sight of hope, love and dreams. Let nothing stand in your way to love, light and happiness.

Kyler J Falk from California on March 20, 2020:

This one really resonates with me, it sounds much like my own father.

Absolutely beautiful.

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