Fatherhood Denied… Speaking Up Through Spoken Word

More Baby Mama Drama and Another Spoken Word Poem

I want to start this post by acknowledging that I am the least important person in this story…
And still, it fucking hurts.
In my head.
In my heart.
It ties my stomach in knots.

I touched on this story a little bit in my last post, The Art of Time Travel, this post and the poem that follows go into detail… Get to the heart of just how many hearts are breaking.

I can not imagine the lived reality, the ache that must consume every waking moment of the life of a father desperate to see his little girl. I can not begin to imagine the confusion and fear that would consume the mind and heart of a 5 year old that just misses her daddy… and has no idea why she hasn’t seen him in so very many months.

I know what it’s like from the outside though, bearing witness.. and that is the only story I can speak to here.
This is my best friend.
This is his little girl.
This is their nightmare.

It hurts watching someone you love suffer so. It’s hard feeling it all so deeply, and at the same time feeling so completely helpless. So I’m doing what I can; what I know. I’m using my words and my internet savvy to tell his story, to speak up on behalf of that little girl that’s without a daddy… to help raise awareness of the Father’s Rights Movement while raising funds for this particular father to fight the good fight to get his baby girl back.

Dollar Dollar Bills, Yo!

This is all so obviously motivated by money…
Just days before the court date that was going to significantly cut her child support, his baby mama made the first in what is now a series of outlandish, unsubstantiated allegations. The job he works now does not pay the salary he was earning when child support was established. He has filed several motions to lower support so that he can afford to live himself…
and coincidentally, with each and every motion comes a new DCF report filed by his baby mama.

Every investigation is closed nearly as quickly as it’s opened, but… The motion to lower support falls by the wayside in the chaos she stirs up.

Meanwhile, she gets half his check, and every motion filed costs him $150… on top of the lawyers fees that keep stacking up.

This whole custody game is rigged in favor of motherhood… I see that more clearly with every hour of research.
Perhaps love was just assumed to be in the heart of a person who could carry a baby to term, give birth, and then care for an infant… a toddler… a child.
Perhaps, love was wrongly assumed.
This is not love.
This is greed.

Perhaps I expect too much of my fellow humans…
But your children are not your pawns.
Their childhood isn’t a game for you to win.
Announcing “check mate” in the direction of your ex is not an objective of parenthood.

How You Can Help

I’ve started a fundraising campaign to help with his court costs and lawyer’s fees.
Donations are so greatly appreciated; social sharing too!
To help spread the word, and help me raise funds for this fabulous father and friend, you can share this blog post and/or a link to the Gofundme.

Thanks for all your help!

Fatherhood Denied

Her photo is framed by the gauges on the dashboard of your truck. You see her face every time you drive. You dream up places to go, just to be close to her.

Her mother is holding her for ransom… wants little more from motherhood than a free ride.

She’s giving you a crash course in family law. And father’s rights… or the lack thereof.
The crime she’s accused you of, a noose around your neck.
Guilty until proven innocent.

She’s hung you out to dry.

You’re pulling at the rope, leaving claw marks on your skin, desperately trying to just keep breathing… long enough… to give your princess back her crown.
For more than 7 months now it’s sat right where it landed on the floor of your house… with the rest of her dress-up clothes.

A porch light calling you back home
A moon pulling you back to shore
An altar to the beauty of your love for your little girl.

The last time she came over to play, was the last time.

This will never be over for her.
With space the wound may heal, but it’ll leave a scar.

How can a mother birth a baby… Feed her the milk of her own lifeblood… and then make a weapon of her heart?Turn her bedtime stories into bad dreams?
Blur the lines of safety, and sex, and the meaning of love… before she’s even old enough to comprehend?

How can a mother birth a baby… Feed her the milk of her own lifeblood… and then distill her innocence and mix it with contempt?
Make a Molotov cocktail of her childhood, stuffed with a diesel-soaked rag silencing her resistance…
Then strike the match of her resignation, set fire to the notion of family, and launch it through the window where her daddy sleeps?

She haunts your dreams.

This will never be over for you.
With space the wound may heal, but it’ll leave a scar.

How can a father cradle a baby… rock her to sleep in his arms…
and then be left with no bedtime stories to read? No lullabies to sing?
Love her all the way to the moon and back…
Hold her hand as she starts to walk…
Be the first word in her mouth when she learns to talk…

In losing each other, you have both lost so very, very much.

Her photo is framed by the gauges on the dashboard of your truck.
You see her face every time you drive.
It’s the background on your phone.
A stolen glance with every call, every text.
Her image burned into your distressed and bleeding, yet somehow still beating broken heart.