Sta.sh
I.
My Father is,
Is not the man,
That did my Mom,
And gave her me.
That was a man,
A child,
Who married her,
Stayed a while,
And left her.
Only to come back,
To see me born.
Only to leave again,
And leave her alone,
While I wailed in her arms.
II.
They say he tried,
But looking back,
I know it's a lie.
Perhaps he tried,
Once.
But that was long ago.
When I craved his love,
And begged to see him.
Cried when he wasn't there.
Turned inward,
And beat myself,
Because I didn't see,
That my father,
Only showed,
When it was convenient,
For him.
III.
My Father,
Is not my father.
But my father,
Was my brothers.
Sure we fought,
But in those relationships,
We learned to lean on each other.
When I was scared,
I found comfort in a sibling's arms.
When I would cry,
They came to protect.
IV.
My Father,
Was my uncle.
Now gone,
Beyond this world.
He performed fatherly duties.
Treated me as his own.
Married into the family,
He took on the man's role.
Taught me to ride bikes,
Gave me examples of what,
Defined a real man.
Told stories,
Told jokes.
Made my favorite breakfast,
Of chocolate chip waffles,
When I stayed in his home.
V.
My father,
Is my step-father.
A racist,
Sexist,
Nark.
Despite all that,
He is there.
Giving advice,
Though sometimes,
Bias and unheeded,
I know he tries,
And I count that,
Among the stars.
VI.
My Father is,
Is not my father.
But my,
Uncle,
Brothers,
Step-dad.
Are.
They hung of portraits,
Set examples,
Showing me how to stand,
How to fall,
How to get back up.
VII.
My father is,
Is not my father.
In his absence,
I have gained four.
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