#poetry about dads

[charzeewrites]

I hate my father, and I hate myself,

Because I am his daughter,

And therefore I am him.

[asoftepiloguemylove]

I WILL DIE YOUR DAUGHTER // ON FATHERHOOD

Arcane (2021-2024) cr. Christian Linke & Alex Yee // Benjamin Alire Sáenz Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // Bruce Springsteen My Father's House (Springsteen on Broadway) // Benjamin Alire Sáenz Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe // Resident Evil Village (2021) cr. Capcom // unknown // The Walking Dead (2012) cr. Telltale Games // unknown // Mary Oliver Dogfish // 呪術廻戦 Jujutsu Kaisen (2018-2024) cr. Gege Akutami // Traci Brimhall Lullaby on Mount Moriah

[nepttunnee]

“dadgojo” this “dadgojo” that as if megumi and gojo dont canonically have a doomed older brother relationship. gojo is only 12 years older than megumi. megumi thinks hes annoying, he hates him. he loves him obviously. gojo is petty and fights with him but took care of him all his life. like hello what

[earlgaylatte]

Cleaning Out the Closet in My Childhood Bedroom, Where I Spent Most of My Seventh Grade Year-

I hid the photos of my father on the top

Shelf, behind a crab hat and embroidered

Bandanas. In one picture

I press my cheek to his like I could

Transfer my baby fat and pull the sallow

From his face.

Somewhere behind the old polaroids-

dad in cowboy boots and camo, him holding His father's Bible, him, looking like a candle that will never go out.

I find his old City on a Hill t-shirt, and

Pretend that if I put it on, it'd still go

Down to my knees.

When I was in seventh grade, I spent more

Time in that physical, metophorical closet

Then I did around him.

And now his abscene

Leaves me wondering, if

He could smell the boyhood on me,

Like I could smell the pot

Seeping into the fabric seats of his pickup.

I may have become his son, but I

Will always love him like a daughter. And I

Would easily give up this life if

He just got to be happy- and with a boy,

If he wanted.

In a dream I hear the impact of stones

being tossed at my window,

and my father-

aged thirteen, grey eyes filled with holy joy and michief, boyish face without sunspots, angel untouched by opioids.

My father is beckoning me outside, asking

if I want to go fishing in the river a mile or

so down the road.

I have to tear my eyes away. I can't save him

This time. It's already happening.

It already happened.

In a dream, he doesn't give me that lecture

On biblical sexuality, and neither does his

Dad.

When he tries to out-scream his queerness,

Sobriety is louder.

How many nights did I spend praying

crying sobbing begging talking confessing

Praying

To no one and nothing?

(god didn't forgive me)

I hope someday Shame asks me for mercy,

And I don't give it to them.

I deserve that.

(there was nothing to forgive)

[gingermintpepper]

Day 1: Apollo

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!

His interpretation for my work is based very much around the concept of his manifestation as the Radiant God of the String. Because of this, quite like Hecate, he’s triple-fold and occupies three major spaces; the string of Fate and therefore prophecy, the bowstring and therefore distance and destruction and the lyrestring and therefore music and order. He’s a somewhat melancholy figure all things considered - Fate and following Fate’s tennants is something that he struggled a lot with as a child and even now as a more mature deity, the only solution he’s truly found is to take things one day at a time. Very diligent and fastidious, he’s a hard worker and tends to put his everything into completing any task set before him which also tends to work to his disadvantage since he’s prone to becoming tunnel-visioned until he’s finished what he said he would finish. His family orchestrated his winter breaks because he had the nasty habit of working himself sick when he was still very young.

Apollo is generally represented by circles in my work - priests of Apollo will be marked with at least three circles on their face and usually wear triangular jewellry (typically earrings or necklace charms) to reflect the triple-nature of their god. His favoured colour is a rich, deep blue and while he typically wears elaborate eye paint, he rarely uses face powders. Wears gem-toned blues for his lips unless in mourning where he will leave himself unadorned and unpainted out of respect.

Some quick trivia: 

Was born identical to Artemis even though they were born (years) apart. Had brown hair, wolf’s ears and fangs and horns when he was a child but never manifested those features again after his penance for slaying Python. If he’s very stressed or angry, sometimes his fangs will show. The brown of his hair grew out to blond naturally as he developed and matured as a god.

Proficient in all instruments but has always especially preferred stringed instruments. Truly unmatched with a kithara but only uses it for special occasions and official meetings. Generally prefers his lyre for every day usage

Really good at sewing and braiding strings together due to the exercises he had to do while under the tutelage of the Moirai sisters. Can’t weave since Athena banned him from touching a loom but he does like watching her spin. The one time she caught him trying to replicate her patterns with a needle and thread, she complained to Zeus that he had broken his oath. He teases her about that even now.

Was the last of the Twelve to learn how to read and write because he hates letter systems and finds it too arbitrary. Prior to the collaboration that resulted in written letter systems, everyone was perfectly fine with remembering the important stuff and encoding the rest in artistic format such as tapestries, pottery, furniture and jewellry. Apollo himself has a truly formidable memory since he’s been composing and immortalising the events and histories of the world in song since he was very young. He finds written books very dull but Clio’s very insistent about written histories being important and convenient so reluctantly, he’s given permission for his songs and poems to be -gags- transcribed and written down.

Is only called Apollo by his parents, Artemis and Dionysus. Hermes rarely calls him by name in general and the others, including other siblings like Ares and Athena, have always called him Phoebus. Interestingly, Zeus usually calls him Phoebus but will call him Apollo when they are alone or when he’s being especially serious. Apollo is completely comfortable with either name but he does see Phoebus as a bit more formal than Apollo. (Despite his best efforts, both Calliope and Clio also still stubbornly call him Phoebus though he’s fairly sure it’s mostly because they know it bothers him.)

[theirongriever]

my first try at contrapuntal poetry

[moopbox]

do u ever feel alive but not...

like ur body is alright n stuff but ur mind...isn't... I don't FEEL alive... its like I'm distant from me... I'm not here... I can feel my limbs I can feel the blood going through me I can feel everything that I've ever hurt.. I can breathe...I can see.. i can write these words down....but I'm just not. just not here my head is fuzzy,parts of me hurt..idk..

more in tags...

[chaoticbooklesbian]

I hate my dad.

If you've been around these parts for any time at all, you probably know that already. He's a goddamn asshole who sucks shit.

There's also something wrong with him. Like, big, scary health issue type wrong. He won't go to the doctor about it, won't believe me or my mom when we tell him, but it's there.

It's there when one sentence, he's asking me about my knitting club at work, and after I reply, he thinks I'm talking about D&D. It's there when he says a string of words that have nothing to do with each other, then gets frustrated and refuses to elaborate when we don't know what he's talking about. It's there when he watches a movie "for the first time" twice and gives the same review, verbatim, both times. It's there when he falls asleep at the table, startles himself awake, and doesn't remember it happened when we ask if he's tired. It's there when he tilts his cereal bowl toward himself and opens and closes his mouth like he's taking bites when the spoon hasn't left the milk.

(That last one was especially disturbing to me for reasons I can't articulate. He was half asleep already, the milk seemed ready to spill all over him, there was still cereal on his tongue from the last bite he'd taken. I keep seeing it in my mind, over and over again. I can't eat when I remember it. I lost my appetite when it happened.)

It's there when he spills his drink twice in one meal and can't connect the dots to put the lid back on the bottle to keep it from spilling again. It's there when he does it again the next night, and the next, and the next. It's there when he spills my drink all over me at Christmas and apologizes more times in a row than over the entire rest of my life up till that point. It's there when he spills his drink on me at dinner one night and can only plop his napkin down on the puddle already absorbing into the tablecloth, leaving me to get the paper towels and wipe down the table underneath.

(That was just last night. I was so angry. He just sat there. I washed his dishes and took out the recycling and the trash just to have something productive to do that wouldn't land me on the news. Those are his chores to do and he'd left them so long they were overflowing.)

It's there when he eats sweets and sweets and sweets. It's there when he leaves popsicle sticks and wrappers all over the place in the middle of the night. It's there when he finishes off a quart of ice cream by himself over several nights and doesn't remember a single bite of it. It's there when he eats the cereal my mom got for me before I get a chance at it. It's there when he eats the ice cream he got for me before I get a chance at it. It's there when he eats the cookies he got for me before I get a chance at them.

(That drives me up the wall. I asked my mom to stop getting me that cereal after the fourth box he ate entirely on his own. I asked him to stop getting me ice cream after the third quart he polished off because I took too long to get to it, never mind that I was saving it. He forgot and got me more ice cream, then ate it.)

I try not to blame him too much for these lapses. I know they're the result of a health issue he can't control. I also know they're worse when he gets high, which he does nearly all the time. He sundowns most days, but especially when he's high. I try not to blame him, but a lifetime of blaming him makes it easy to do. I resent him already for the care he's going to require as whatever this is progresses. I've resented him my whole life for the care he was always going to need in his old age.

He's approaching 70.

He'll need care soon.

[butterfly-in-progress]

My Father and His God

We climb the mountain

And I know we did not bring a lamb to sacrifice

Your God has demanded I die

(Is He really my God if He wants me dead?)

And I am scared

Because I know you are a faithful man

And your God is above all

Even family, even blood

You do not look at me as we climb

Please, just look at me

I want to see my father's eyes

Know a little love before I go

Even if it is not enough to save me

Even if it is not enough to defy God

Let me have the semblance of care

And as I lay down upon the rock

At the top of the mountain

I bare my throat to you

(Do you love me a little for making it easy?)

(Is there any hope for the sacrificial lamb

that goes willingly to slaughter?)

I shut my eyes when I see the glint of the knife

(If I die like this will God forgive me for existing?)

There is no angel from the skies

No heavenly trumpets to stay your hand

And all the same

You drop the knife

I hear it clatter to the ground

"My child"

You say

"My God will not tell me to kill you"

I think you are delusional

I know you heard His message

You have obeyed His every creed why think this is any different?

You shake your head and embrace me

"A god who would demand this of me is no god of mine"

I want to pick up the knife

Thrust the handle to your hands

Demand you finish this

I am already lost!

God has already decided I should die

But you are not, you have a chance

Do not let me drive you to sin

But in this moment I am just a child

Clinging to their father's shirt as I cry

How can I balance this in my soul?

Failed sacrifice, both holy and ruin

How could I, child meant to follow

Have led you astray

And why can I neither grieve nor rejoice

At the loss of your godliness

That delivered me from the blade?

[wlwgang]

I actually don’t think I’m strong enough to make it through the rest of brokeback mountain this shit is devastating

[vampirewhohuntsvampires]

Slice Of Heaven [Title]

[nobecausecheese]

When kittens smell of cigarettes It tells you one of two things; Either he was on the table again Or he was kissed Very gently On his tiny little head By someone who smokes American Spirits

[lemonlimestar]

tagged by @mamawasatesttube in the “last line of your current wip” tag game :) tyyy

i behold two whole paragraphs from a wip that’s been kicking my ass. once upon a time they were one paragraph but then i was editing and just kept going

ummm i will tag @franollie

i have genuinely no clue who else to tag but whoever wants to join feel free :]

[pears-palette]

It can be easy to forget that love is just as easily violent as it is soft.

It’s intensity drives us to our knees, makes us howl and weep, turns our bodies into glass bottles trying to contain tsunamis.

Love makes us want to carve off parts of ourselves happily for the comfort of another.

It can bring equal parts ecstasy and agony and never have I felt more alive than when I am loving.

[milkyspine]

[carolineishere]

for my dad:

as i grow up, so do the monsters under my bed

but they’ve never been scared of you and you won’t stop ‘till they’re dead.

talk me to sleep ‘bout the books you’ve read,

and keep me safe from memories from your youth inside your head.

without a word, you take your best parts and give them all to me,

and i’m sorry to wake you but i had a bad dream.