Wounded she looked at the
pieces of her life before her
scattered everywhere
back broken, heart scarred, torn and bare.
Breathed in and took a look around her
put one foot in front of the other
barely touching the ground
she spreads her wings to fly
he just wasn’t that guy.

You know the “one”
She thought she would marry
so she had his baby but it seems like he got cold feet
or something and never took the
responsibility of a father who’d be there
lied constantly about when and where
and how much he cared and oh how much he loved her.

As he left her in the hospital right after the purest gift was given
to her and him
walked out I’d say an hour or two after he was born
tears later turned into scorn
and I quote he says, “Oh The life I’m living”
these days as she contemplates
how she will feed him, bathe him, and clothed him, daily
on welfare.

She prayed faithfully
for this man
kissed his lips gently and gave her virtue
as the legs spread honey-dipped
and hips intertwined
press rewind and they did this in rhythm
for days
until the doctor proclaimed
the test is in and there is a baby within
her womb
but he is so consumed
with himself
and being what he calls a,” six figure n***a”
that he doesn’t even know how many times he could have just
missed the trigger pointed at him.

But no momma, No MOMMA don’t do that
concentrate on the little pity pat
pity pat feet u wash nightly
because two wrongs don’t make it right
But he asked for a baby
so maybe
that justifies it?
no, I don’t think so
and she has lost count of the tears that not only
fell the morning he left
but even now when she reflects
on the ongoing effects.

So to all the mothers
who celebrate fathers day too
I dedicate this poem to you
continue to stay true to the daughters and sons
who will one day thank only you!

Dedicated – Angelique Judice 3/23/2010

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French Connection

The Ordinary

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