Pop's Father's Day Gift

Because of how underrated
This day is
Because of how criticized
This day is

I was gonna write a poem
about deadbeats
about the “no-call, no-shows”

This poem was going to be
a dedication to mothers
acting as fathers

It was going to be
a depiction of life
without Pop

I started it….
But I immediately stopped

I couldn’t relate

I have a “Pop”
A Dad
A Father
More than just a figure
Pop has been around
for the full 25 years of my existence
as well as the 20 years
of my sibling’s

I must admit
it wasn’t always
happy times
All three of us
have become
butting-head bighorns
at some point
But despite our differences

Pop was here

At least he was here
for me to argue with

This piece is not a brag or boast
It’s a toast

To the man who taught me how to fight
How to treat women with respect
How to read people
How to swing my elbows, ball secured,
after coming down from a rebound

To the man that genetically showed
my brother how to play the drums
To the man that’s the main reason
I have a sick & sometimes corny
sense of humor
To the man who loves and tenderly
takes care of the woman
who birthed me

Thank you

Thank you for being the standard
that should be held by
all men
who need to be
want to be
or already are
Fathers

I hope to be ¾ the father you are

Maybe then my son or daughter
will write a poem
for me too.

Thank Ya Kindly, Papermate

I wanted to speak
I wanted to tell a story
I wanted to mold a soul
I wanted to provide an escape
I wanted to move a mountain
I wanted to extend & expand a river

I wanted to save my family… both sides
Well… whoever needed saving anyway

I wanted to single-handedly uplift a nation

I wanted to explain my days of infamy
The 21st of May
The 14th of November
Days to remember
Days of Birth
Days of Death
Days of 2010
Days to forget

I wanted to become a song

I wanted her to know that it’s not her fault…
That I don’t blame her...
She did what she had to do…

What we had to do…

I wanted to slaughter my enemies
Mortal Kombat Fatality style

I wanted to confess why I’ve stopped crying
Don’t get me wrong...
I’m still sensitive enough to share this with you
but no one sees my tears
They don’t see that side of me
so vividly anymore

I wanted people to know
my brother is a genius
Musically
Mentally
Spiritually

I wanted to talk about why we should leave
both Lebron & Libya alone

I wanted to know what’s wrong with my friend
If it’s because I didn’t write that poem
you’ve been waitin’ on… I’m sorry dude
But if you were presented with the pressure
of having your words tattooed
on something more permanent than paper
You’d be scared too

I wanted to go back to Orlando

I wanted to express why I still love her
Why the world can’t tell me anything about her
Why I’d die for her

I wanted to resurrect the dead
rearrange time,
rewrite history,
And rebuild reason
I wanted to meditate
I wanted to pray
I wanted to rest
I wanted a response
I wanted to bask in the pool
of my spirit’s thoughts
and emotions

I wanted the matter behind my skull
to produce steaming fecal substances
to share with others

Scratch that… even better:

I wanted to wipe the a** that is my brain
with my notebook
So that the end result
would be a paper imprint of
Hot Sh*t

But I couldn’t

My mind was constipated

And my damn pen ran out of ink…