Communication

Dear Father of mine,

Years have passed and I'm an adult now.

Again, years have passed and I wonder how

I could go through my adolescence occasionally thinking

of the one person who had been permanently missing

the adventurous parts of my teenage years,

my laughs, my hugs, my love and my tears. 

That's crazy to think about if you really sit

and break it apart bit by bit,

that your life was unwillingly taken

and you're now with God, Jesus, and I know not Satan.

Sorry, I don't mean to be cliche,

but it's hard for me to shake off my childish ways.

Of course, you only knew me as a child,

so I know to fret not as you'll read this awhile

and think "how has my little girl been?"

Don't worry Daddy I have yet to sin.

Religion, yes, that's what I'm reminded of when I think of you. 

I guess in that perspective there's nothing anyone can do

to change the fact that I'm believing in the faith

that really all I ever need to do is pray.

Truly, when you left I was stuck with anxiety, 

depression, abuse and hardly no concrete priority. 

Oh but religion shall say that you didn't see it at all,

hopefully you didn't because you would've been appalled.

"Where did my strong little girl go?

Did the world ruin you already or were you lost from the get go?"

The smell of cigarettes and booze wasn't too appealing

since the stench rose your anger from the floor to the ceiling. 

Calling my mother and your ex wife, 

hoping for the ending of her own life

because of her lack of skills in parenting.

Imprinted in my mind, those words were menacing

especially coming from the man

who I thought had no capability of the words at hand.

Little girls are raised to be brilliant

yet the first thing I knew was to be resilient.

It wasn't the world that dragged me down,

it was the blood of the "innocent" that lay in my hometown.

Let me elaborate because I think I was unclear,

my hometown was simply my house in invisible prison gear.

I didn't relate to the stories

of children and parents with love on the TVs'.

You were away and I saw you briefly

when you were okay and I was basically a baby. 

I'm letting your spirit ask me all the questions 

so now it's my turn I make a too - late suggestion:

you shouldn't have left me.

I don't mean when you had died

I mean when you were fine and lied.

You could have saved me.

I could've been the girl that didn't understand suicide

yet you let me have the experiences to which I relied 

on the past and the present but never the future.

My life was a mess and I was a loser,

what more did I need since I was filled with hatred,

sadness, confusion and easily baited

into believing that there was nothing waiting.

So why was I still living?

The tightness around my neck gripped until I cried

and understood the laws of life to which I was forced to abide.

But then it was you. 

You didn't get a choice and I realized

early enough that I am alive.

For what? To grieve from you? Move on? Accept?

I was genuine and didn't understand the concept

when I screamed your name in agony

after being cursed out and hurt physically and emotionally

by the rest of what I called my family.

Excuse the tears on this letter

but I know I could be better.

The death of you brought upon the misconception

that there might not be a hell or even a heaven

because of the one thing that I was dependent

on bringing me closer to happiness and the mere idea of being ascendant.

Yet, I'm glad and I thank you Daddy.

I am an adult now and I am happy. 

Regardless of what my religion describes

I hope that you're proud of my decisions and vibes

I'm giving off now that I'm successful.

Without our story, my situation would be stressful.

Surprising? A life through hell and tragedies 

and I'm already disregarding my calamities.

That's because you taught me to make symphonies

with any talent you were determined I had.

In the end, I wouldn't wish for any other dad.

Thank you.

With love,

Cynthia S. Hernandez

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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