Happy British Father’s Day, Pa-
Iechyd da to the man who taught me
how to vanish while still sitting at the dinner table.
To the man of God
who forgot his firstborn kids.
How Christ-like of you.
Devoted.
Born again.
You called it.
Like life gives you
That option when
You put your dick in
And didn’t
Want what came out
9 months later.
Did you confess?
Bow low into the armpit of your decaying
Soul?
I was twelve when you stopped showing up.
Old enough to know the violence of the man
we call men.
Too young to know how much damage
they would do.
Your church.
Your pride.
Your goddamn image.
Amen.
You’re a deacon now.
A shepherd of lost souls, you believe.
How’s that working out?
Do they know you practiced on your own?
They say kids abandoned at birth
wonder what was so wrong with them.
But me?
You knew me.
You held me.
You called me smart and funny and yours—
and then walked on water.
Until we drowned.
So, what was it, Dad?
What did you see that made you turn?
You weren’t some absent myth.
You were there—
and then you weren’t.
And that makes me the punchline
in your ungodly prayer.
So yeah.
Thanks for the abandonment issues.
The trust problems.
The whiplash belief that love leaves when it wants—
Slicing into me like a
cilice.
A penance
you created.
Did you know?
Or was I just co-lateral
In your escape plan?
Thanks for the psalm.
A lesson learned:
how to disappear while pretending to be holy.
I just disappear now.
A nothing to nobody.
Just in case.
You’re all the same.
I hope the sermons are good.
I hope the pews are full.
And the new wife you
found to fuck
is your saviour.
Or whatever.
But honestly?
I don’t.
I hope your holy book
burns in your hands.
I hope your holy book
melts in the flames.
I hope that one day,
I’ll be cleansed.
That I won’t look for you
when I see River
with their dad.
A man.
Real and
true.
Not a rhyming effigy
Of a martyr sold out,
The one who stayed for the ride,
I pray to Gaia that,
One day I won’t wonder
what it might have been.
Who I might have become.
If I didn’t loathe Father’s Day
And all the amens,
It misrepresents.
About the Creator
River and Celia in Underland
Mad-hap shenanigans, scrawlings, art and stuff ;)
Poetry Collection, Is this All We Get?
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This Is Not For Metrics
We shared a poem today. Emotionally raw and quite devastating. I watched my wife cry as they wrote. I held them when they pressed, 'submit'. Yes submit. Place your vulnerabilities out into the world—for understanding, for solidarity, for survival. For peace.
By River and Celia in Underland 8 months ago in Poets
Comments (14)
Circling back to say a belated congrats on Runner- Up on the challenge C&R!
Wooohooooo congratulations on your win! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
Congratulations on your placement! 🎉🎉
Ouch... the punch in this is so real Celia!! I'm sorry this was a reality for you, I hope writing this brought you some catharsis. Because if he can walk away from you so easily, he deserves even less respect than that from you! Congrats on honourable mention on the leaderboard this week!
Wooohooooo congratulations on your Leaderboard placement! 🎉💖🎊🎉💖🎊
Some dads don't deserve their children. That includes the ones that stay, too. I'm sorry your dad was the way he was, but he didn't deserve you anyway. You're just the most perfect person I know. I love you (and River, too) to the moon and back, forever and ever <3
Well-wrought, Celia. As a father who had to fight to stay in his kids' lives, I felt this as a sad reminder that we don't all give it our best effort.
oh my, this is powerful. Sending hugs across the pond.
Your dad doesn't deserve you. You are worth so much more than him. I am just so bloody sorry he made you feel this way. Organized religion always makes me nervous - I feel it's less about believing/ being a good person and more about earning points in heaven and looking down on others. I know this isn't the case for everyone but.... Anyway, this was exceptional. Love this line so much: The whiplash belief that love leaves when it wants—
Oh, Celia. I felt every bitter word of this. He's a fool not to recognise your worth, cariad. I feel for his loss.
You came out swinging and never stopped punching. Hard reality on too many lives with out the thought of how it affects others, especially the young. It isn't fair. All my best for what it is worth and from your writings, I am proud of you both.
Sometimes they are present and you wish em gone, sometimes they are gone and you wish em present. Life is this merry-go-round, damned if do and if don't. happy you are yourself now. Able to vent and move on.
For god to be dead it needs to have existed in the first place, like the conscience of so many abusers who feel they are entitled just because they can do something. Powerful words
Too many of us have stories like this and they're not okay. I'm glad this was crass and raw and real and not sugarcoated like society wants us to make this. Glossed over and polished up so people don't have to acknowledge the evil that waits everywhere. Sending hugs to boost your light :)