Mon, 03/30/2015 - 18:33 -- Latiaaa


my beautiful papa.
He doesn't look at me anymore. 
His smile has disappeared from his face. 
Papa's bones are as thin as the weeds out back.
Remember papa? 
You made me that handmade bike because you couldn't afford me a real one.
Your hands were the only things that helped me and momma. 
The medicine you take, the bed you live in,
Your only depends.
I'm the one you should depend on papa.
I hold your fragile hand as you shake in fear. 
Papa, your fever is too high.
On some nights, I sit with you in the oddest hours, keeping a cool damp towel placed  on your forehead. 
The medicine can only hold you here for so long. 
Papa, I can't sleep knowing that you're coughing your life away.
I stay up thinking of the days we use to spend in the blistering sun.
You drinking your ginger beer, giving me a sip. 
It was sweet, yet burned on my tongue as it went in the back of my throat. 
Warm feeling. 
Papa, you were there for me when my days were dark and momma wouldn't be around.
She works a lot more now.
Why does life have to take the only thing I need to live?
Papa, you're getting weaker.
The hammer and nails you use to use, now mock your lack of strength. 
Momma can only do so much.
Remember when the holidays would come around and you'd be out so long?
Scorching yourself to find the one gift for me?
Weary and tired you would always be,
you did it for me.
Papa, it's my turn now.
I loved the way you would smell during the mid-summer days. 
The burnt cigarettes and fabric sweat was your name brand smell.
Every night, 
you would come home beat with sweat beads on your forehead from the hat you wore. 
It resembled the long weary hours you worked for that money. 
Stale bread bottoms and scarce water was all we had.
Holy socks and beaten shoes was all I needed. 
It was all you could afford papa. 
Now life is in my hands. 
Your sickness is the only tight bond left that's keeping us close.
Papa, you're daydreaming again.
Collarbones and hip bones are not suppose to be visible on you papa.
It's hurting me more than it's hurting you.
Your eyes are glossy.
The hair on your head that was once thick and brown, 
has now gone grey and thin. 
You're undernourished.
Papa, I can see the fear in your eyes.
You're worried about me and momma. 
Don't worry.
Sad how the doctors turn their heads in shame.
They can't do anything. 
If you leave me as I'm speaking, 
remember that your life has given me great fortune. 
Whether it was working till your knuckles bled or staying up all night with me, 
just know that you're a wonderful papa.

This poem is about: 
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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