Divorced when I was six.

Both love me, no doubt about that

But their love and lives happened to mix,

Anger coming at the drop of a hat.

My father is a good man,

Though I fear of becoming him all too often.

A heart hardened from being left out of her plan,

Still he tries to soften.

He later married a wonderful woman named Melissa,

A second mother for his young.

A better mother than my own, 

Helping shape who I’ve become.

When I was nine,

I passed out for the first time.

Early in the morning my dad lovingly punched my arm,

There was no real harm.

Blood rushed from my head to fill my shoulder,

Leaving me lightheaded and stiff as a boulder.

I stayed home from school that day,

My second mother watching over me.

Until my mom knocked on the door, angry, many things to say.

“Melissa, why wasn’t I informed? Where’s my child? Let me see”

Melissa is just like everyone else,

She has her stories, her downfalls, finding herself.

God gave her the things she needed and she made do,

God has always been in that house, and everything they went through.

Never forced on me like some parents do, 

A seed was planted that grew and grew. 

My moral compass was broken, spinning all around,

From the two norths in my life, true north never found.

Through the eyes of an adult, 

I see what has been sacrificed for love.

For their children, their lives, 

All of the above. 

From the heart of a scared child, 

Actions that felt so big I may never recover.

I walked through a terrain so wild.

I talked to my second mother.

Heartache and despair,

I spent hours in that chair. 

We talked about life, love, family, and friends.

How God knows all, 

Even how it ends.

Parents may not be perfect, no one is.

I hope to love my kids the way my father loves his.

And I couldn’t wish for a better mother.

She may not be mine, but I will always love her.