Editor's ChoicePoetrySad Poems

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Dad used to come back home with the tenacious fetor of cigarettes and paint pummeled on his t-shirt.

I used to sit in melancholy on his heaving chest and admiring this transcendence scent.

I always imagined it like vodka and cranberry juice, my tastebuds itching for a delicate taste.

My fragile ears always listening to the awkward way his heart reverb.

*****

Staring out into the vast and empty sky,
I used to wished I could disappear.
Looking at the fireflies and the other insects: wings sparkling when they hit the incandescent.

I miss daddy’s drunken steps.
I think mom missed when she used to yell.

Depression kept me isolated from friends,
I now have keen interest for books and pen.

I hope daddy is with God; high above the pearly whites gates.
I hope daddy is ascending the heavenly stairs.
I used to be daddy’s little girl.

I used to be happy,
But what is happiness, if dad is dead?

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