Her father who mothered her
He is inferior… ignorant… they scorn
In the mirror, his image contorts to their accuses
He is buried alive beneath merciless taunts and belittlement
Unconsciously presenting himself as a pawn to be used.
Is she worth it?
Should he really go on doing this?
It was torture enough to lose his sanity
To lose the person who made him a man
The remnants of his heart, ripped with nostalgia
His wife, his cocoon, his safe haven, his woman.
Is she worth it?
Should he really go on doing this?
Like sand in an hourglass, his happiness slips through his fingertips each day
Coming home to a house with no laughter in the air
Slipping beneath sheets drenched with months of his tears
Waking up to a world disassociated from care.
Is she worth it?
Should he really go on doing this?
Then her laughter shatters his veil of sadness
Piercing the soul of a creature with hope
Repairing his ghostly heart with every attempt of a smile
Giving him the reason he craved, to bury the rope.
Is she worth it?
Should he really go on doing this?
Changing her diapers and playing dollhouse have become less of a task
Combing her hair is less of a bother
Her approving stare and welcoming arms give him strength
To embrace his title – of not just a father but a mother.
Shantayaé Grant
Convent of Mercy Academy ‘Alpha’