As part of my room re-organisation, I’ve been stumbling across more forgotten poetry. Reading through this one gives me a sense of perspective and gratitude for the dad I have. He’s a pretty cool dude, and I’m all about celebrating the good things as much as I can.
My Dad is. 15/5/2022
I’m six
My dad is a superhero
The best at playing monster
Chasing us around on the school playground
I’m ten
My dad is a caregiver
The best at hot water bottles
Pouring quietly and carefully
Easing out the trapped air so the pressure’s just right
I’m thirteen
My dad is a detective
Finds me huddled in the passenger seat
Crying about hating myself and how it’s too hard
He sits, and he waits
Entirely present
Stepping out of holiday mode to meet me where I’m at
and remind me just how mean my mind is being
how none of it is true
and that it’s going to get better
I’m fourteen
My dad is a therapist
The best at can’t-sleep chats
Listens to my stream of consciousness
I talk school stress, fears and doubts
Why I feel numb
He always talks me down
I hope you liked this week’s piece. Shout out to all the parents and caregivers (biological, adoptive, foster, circumstantial, all of y’all), who are just doing their best. Hats off to you. You are doing awesome, and I hope you recognise your value.
bohemianhumanist.com 