Paige Clinton Poet I do not know?

Daddy

I vaguely remember a father.
	One that screamed, yelled, cursed.
Flung bottles around, here and there.
	Knocked around furniture.
Knocked around momma, like furniture. 
	But sometimes he was nice.
He’d give me toys.
	Candy, chocolate, a Kite.
One day he never came back.
	“Momma?” I puzzled,
I was only seven. My mother still loved me then.
	She tried to change. 
Tried. Not really. But she was better.
	‘Momma?” I tried again.
This time she looked up from the table.
	Tears streaming her face,
Like rivers of pain.
	“Where’s daddy?” I asked. Shy.
“He’s dead! Dead! God took him from me!
	Not that he was any good…
But he was all I had! Your daddy’s dead!”
	She screamed.
That was when,
	Her hate for me,
Really began.

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Emile Pinet March 2, 2015 at 2:35 PM I like it, the word choices are excellent and the theme is consistent throughout. You have managed to capture human frailties and emotions and weave them into a dark poem that is easy to relate to and understand. Good work. Emile #7

Jan Allison February 19, 2015 at 4:42 PM Such a deep and sad write Paige:-( hugs jan xx Paige Clinton March 3, 2015 at 12:52 PM Thanks!