Being Nice

Chimera Poetry

family

I was raised in a house where we were all polite
where we all loved each other all the time
and nothing was ever wrong
and nothing was ever said that wasn’t…
nice
My father went to work one day
and never came back
nobody told me anything
nobody said where he went
until a very long time after
my mother never used the word “dead”
I guess that was another thing that wasn’t quite…
nice
that list was long
but later she married jim
now he is your father
but he wasn’t
he’s your father and he loves you
but he didn’t
and you should love him
but I couldn’t
not for any reason exactly
just because
he wasn’t really very lovable
he was just jim
just someone who showed up and stayed
I suppose it wouldn’t have been acceptable to say and I never did,
“now that he…

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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