Who looks back at you when you stare into the mirror?
Do you recognize evil or are you just numb to your own horror?
How can you take innocence and twist it, crush it, spoil it?
What makes you think a child can be your personal human toilet?
How do you take your own precious daughter’s virginity,
Then tell her mother (your wife,) “There are 2 sides to every story”?
How do you (with a straight face,) tell your child Daddy loves her
When you know damn well all you want to do is fuck her?
How do you stalk her, harass her, and lie in wait
Using money, lies, and promises as bait?
How do you walk down the street and feel no shame
When you're fucking your own daughter, like it’s a game?
How do you sleep at night knowing that her belly aches,
Her body is sore and her little heart breaks?
Don't you think it's sick to deflower your own daughter?
Tell me, how do you do it? How do you call yourself a father?
I wrote that poem last year for SAAM. There are absolutely no words to express how privileged I feel to be loved as strongly, trusted as completely, let in as deeply as how Ali loves me, trusts me and let’s me in. The photo above was taken on my first trip to Jamaica. While Ali and I were together I was very surprised to see her crying. I mean we were having the most wonderful time in the world and there she was crying. I asked what was wrong and without looking at me she just said in that soft voice of hers. “I know you’re not leaving until tomorrow, but I miss you already.”
Text and Photo: Copyright © 2008 Xavier Pierre Jr. All rights reserved.
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