A little girl.

Grew up too soon.

In the hands of a father too demanding.

The one who died with unfulfilled yearnings.

An image she can’t replicate.

In the men she inadvertently hates.

A father who wanted the world for her.

Left alone, she scrambles for his one last word.

Words that he gave her.

But antagonisms that fester.

Words she can’t use to explain a loss this huge.

For all purposes, they remain obtuse.

A death that cannot be mourned.

For it was a relationship of scorn.

Where are you, papa?


You paid the price for your sins.

But left me alone in this din.

This din of madness and depravity.

Where your presence was mandatory.

To make it easy for me to maneuver.

The slopes of a life marked by disorder.

I caress these albums of pictures.

By turning them into scriptures.

Your monstrous image turned holy.

In the eyes of a woman clamoring for a Daddy.

I will forgive you if you give me another chance.

To wipe the slate clean and love you from the start.

A love that we were supposed to have.

From the very first day you coddled me and chaffed.

Laughed at the blisters on my head.

But promised me a mind that was adept.

You died with a longing so grave

And left a daughter that should brave

The negligence of your duties

And improprieties.

Battling the demons everyday.

While you swiftly passed away.

But, but you left prematurely.

Or was it obligatory?

The untimely death of a wicked man.

The loss is unbearable for a Lolita that crammed

All the love she could get in her pram.

Should I be this magnanimous.

When you left a scar so humungous?

Left me to set the record straight.

On a daughter-daddy relationship that debilitates.

But there is no setting straight.

Of a behavior that was degenerate.




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