An Entire Act of Maturity

There are many ways people express gratitude Be it in written or verbal form Perhaps in a way words cannot give justice to I wrote this poem as a gift to my father In attempts to show thanks for all his gifts to me Act I: A healthy baby girl is born into the world Not without her faults, she sees the world through unpolished eyes Her view of the world is not yet tarnished All she knows is a blank slate All she recognizes is frightening She remembers two pairs of hands from that fateful day It is not until a teacher gives her an assignment that she realizes why The first are those of her mother The woman is new to the child But familiar Having heard the woman’s heartbeat from within The baby feels at home in her arms Glad to have someone to understand her To cradle her in her moments of worry And wrap her many wounds when they occur Be them physical or mental The second are those of her father She will later find many things to compare that title to A God A tormentor A stand up comedian But she will always think of one face The face of the man who she was introduced in her first vestiges of life Who will do incredible things for her Teach her more about the world than she could imagine In those first fleeting minutes of life Act II: The girl has grown Stretched out like the wings of a freshly hatched butterfly She is different now than from the first act Her familiarity has grown past that of the two pair of hands She sits with her family in a bed big enough to fit the four of them The whole family faces one another Centering their posture around two dogs They discuss every subject tangible to their minds Life, love, respect, lunch, dirty humor The subjects are varying on the time and mood of participants But she gains an intimacy with the bed Much like one would for a happy childhood memory or respected novel Desperate to impress it on her mind so not even a disease or another person could make her forget Because this place is home to her With these people On this cushioned surface She could never feel more comfortable Act Three: The girl has grown now Adjusting to ideals instead of appearances She makes the best of what she has Complaining about ails her Rejoicing in what heals her She fears many things She often fears she will intimidate too many people with her height That her words will boom louder than she expected That everyone in a five mile radius will notice her flaws the second she doubts herself But a voice reaches out to her Like a lighthouse to a wandering ship captain The voice belongs to a man she has called many things A God, A tormentor, A stand up comedian, Papa, Shithead, Dad Father She can’t help the tears that well behind her eyes Like a waterfall pushing through cardboard fences the pride spills from her eyes It flows from her cheeks onto a projected screen For the first time she feels something Positive nostalgia It fills her like a mug of coffee after sleep Exhausts her like long walks under dim moonlight She lets the tears flow Lets the statues crumble And loves her father She wrote this poem Trying to capture the essence of her sentiments And she asked me to say something for her today So please say a silent prayer for me As her words often make my voice break “Thanks Dad For pushing me out of my comfort zone For making me a better person For forcing me to think outside the box I would have never matured in the majestic beast I am today Had it not been for you This poem is merely a vessel for all the thank you’s I wish I had your courage to give”