Oct 6, 2011

Those Two Dollars....

For over half my days I was raised by a child
a woman of bitter means, screwed up and screwed over and hung out to dry.
Facing years of illegitimacy and being ill prepared for this man's world that I am suppose to be accustomed to...

I go to her for answers not realizing that she still has questions to ask of her damn self... 

because her momma wasn't there due to her succumbing to tumors
while she made up all these cold stories that she fed us, instead of fostering relationships with people that can give us warm memories. 

She introduced me to this stranger, who was stranger than a lil bit. He bore no face that I could recognized, nor did i feel love in his voice when he was facing me...
But at 16 I am suppose to accept him with loving arms as if this was the father that sat me on his knee and loved me?

Well what I do remember was sitting on those cold hard steps and listening to words he thought I wanted to hear, while songs of comfort and freeze frames from my favorite movies rolled around in my head. 
As i am going through my poplock routine, perfect videos playing in my head... thank God for Breakin'

Passing me two dollars, putting a value on my life as if that two dollars would make up for over a decade and a half of his absence. Only to ask for them two dollars back because his urge for a pack of squares, so I pass it back, and he disappeared as strangely as he came.

Only to realize that he actually did leave me with something, just not what I thought. 
Realizing that I was about to become a surrogate mother, to a lil brother that those two dollars bought. It was just enough for my mother to surrender to him, leave her with another broken legacy.. another part of him, that doesn't look like me.

Fast forward to a time when I am grown and ready to try.. he is still that raging alcoholic with a death wish, ready to die. There are more holes in his memory than I know his liver can withstand... but still I don't know, or love this man. But he is a doting father, just not over me. He loves that new son, and what he has grown up to be.

If you notice this half of the poem is beginning to rhyme, it is only because I am grown up and have opened my eyes. All my words that I speak are irrelevant to him, because when he looks at me, he sees my mother who his lust for has dimmed. Moving on like a season, passing through like ships with no destination, he loves on that son, pays for his education.

But unlike my mother, I am no glutton for punishment.. so I cut my losses, and move on to live with purpose and accomplishment. I understand that family is not just a mother and father, it is surrounding yourself with people who love....Who nourish, who give in return, and never give up...

And now enters stage right, mother again, telling me you have passed on, be at the church,put on a show for people you will never see again until someone else is gone...I am not going to 
belong to a funeral family that is only involved when someone is enbalmed...

Nah I am good, I think I will pass, spend the day with people I know who love me. Sip on a lil wine, just pass the time, making memories that last, and adding to my future now, soon days that will be in the past. I know I may sound cold, but I would rather be real, then sing one negro spiritual, shed one tear for someone who never was here. 


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