My First Slam Poem: Daddy

Sorry there’s no audio or visual. So it’s really just a poem on a screen. Maybe I’ll upload the audio later. For now, just read it aloud. Enjoy!

 

Daddy

During my princess years,

when the world bounced like cotton candy between my hands,

and the tooth fairy was an emissary

sent by the Easter bunny to take my teeth and turn them into flecks of gold

–or at least some quarters, if she could–

that’s when I learned the world would be wonderful if I let it, and

God had to exist.

I believed it then and believe it now–

But for a while I just followed the footsteps of my father and mother,

because I was a child and that’s what kids do

–until you land in high school.

First day, freshman year I turned up with my tutu on to tackle the world as Supergirl:

know all, be all–my own answer.

Me? I never spoke like a three day sleepless blogger on coffee–oh, no not me–who talked the world in and typed it back out as an eight track tape that took too long to tell their take on things.

I had life down–until I didn’t. The perfect princess, who suddenly wasn’t.

I forgot the formulas for physics and failed the class final–my fault.

I found a song I couldn’t sing and a part I couldn’t play.–my fault.

I got beaten black eyed by math–my. fault.–until at last the first whisper came:

there is no God.

Before long I had fallen so far I couldn’t stop

–until one day the stratosphere stopped me. He shook my head and said,

“You silly girl, I’m here. Right here.

Remember me.”

I looked up and saw a blogger on coffee

–like myself–

standing next to a teenager with shower curtain bangs and black eyed-eyeliner.

But they were really both kids

with their bedtime covers covering their faces while they waited for Daddy to come,

because their mistakes were all/still?  marching inside of their heads

and they needed his hands to hold onto theirs and help them survive until morning.

I realized God has to exist

–because humans can cry so much

that they’re empty enough to embark on life

carrying the crusades on their shoulders and the holocaust in their hearts.

And they think the only thing helping keep their heads above hell is their hope in the future.

But they’re wrong.

The coin of good fortune is flipped by humanity

–heaven or hell–

so it has to be someone more ourselves enabling us to place our all on the altar of tomorrow.

I decided God was real

when I saw that a spun sugar summer, dawn’s creation of color, and your daddy’s divorce

can all coexist at the same time together–

without God to lift us from one to the other

two, we’d never make it.

God exists because black eyes become bruises become

reminders to duck next time someone swings.

God has to exist

because when He works together our tooth fairies, Easter bunnies, cotton candies and tutus

what we see is a child

–but that child sees the stars and wants to walk between them.

God’s lives because no garden as beautiful as this universe is authored anonymous,

and no human able to love as deep as the sky

lives life to be labeled composition sixty six by an uncaring cosmos.

God’s here because we are–and we need Him.

God has to be real because when I drained my way away from hell

and onto my shower floor,

I whispered, “Daddy. Daddy, I wanna go home.”

He stretched out his winter hearth hands to hold mine and prove he lived.

An unconscious creator couldn’t show me compassion when I was broken, but God could

–and on the bottom of my rainy-day bathroom I heard his voice:

I love you. Stand.

 

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