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This is my daughter
She is not my genetics
She is not my blood
She is not my legacy
And she is not my mistake
She was as well thought out
And finely crafted as any work of art
You’d be lucky to glimpse
At the Louvre
She is a metaphor
An allusion
A simile
And an allegory
I use these words because
To attempt to administer
Their mechanics upon her
Would surely be to fall short
I give her the best and the last of mine
Not because she is worthy of that
But because I am not worthy to withhold it from her
She is my worshipper and my god
My student and my teacher
I strive to be a better man
So that she knows what a good man is
My example is her scout
My lessons are her infantry
My advice her cavalry
And my fists are her royal guard
Though this far her enemies will not get
For I have crafted her with resilience and guile
Enough for a dozen of her
I have made sure she is
And Delicate
And ass-kickin
She won’t kick ass and take names
She’ll kick ass and forget names
Cause forget those people
She’s better than them

And on the other hand
With her other hands
She will embrace
The faces of grace
Of men and women and children and elders
She’ll lift the weak from the fires in which they smolder
And place their feet upon her shoulders
And with words so sweet inhale their boulders

My duty, as a father
Is not simply to assure she gets farther
But that she betters our mother
Through the lessons in which I’ve taught her
Mine eyes and thoughts upon her
Are as necessary as water
And if once you had pause to ponder
Know that this is my daughter

And you better have her home by ten


(I love you, Little Miss!!)


The Spectrum

Those that don’t learn from the past are doomed to repost it.

July 2018
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