Portrait of my father

He was raised by a soldier, you will imagine his apathy

He saw his mother die and his father passed away on a December 29th

To them I attribute his bitterness in life

He only has sisters, they did everything for him

He never learned how to cook, how to wash his clothes or to help anyone

A truly don Juan, gift that I call disgrace

We will say by decency that parents have no preference over their children,

my father obviously does

I am his first daughter, the one he wanted so much

He always put a lot of pressure on me, he wanted me to stand out,

Perhaps, he just wanted me to be what he couldn’t, have what he didn’t

He was very strict in his teaching, he was very sweet in his teaching

He answered all my questions, he also kept silent on me many times

I appreciate his accompaniment

I learned to listen, but I never understood the difference between being silent for education or obligation

I will never forgive him for striking us,

even today I feel sad saying it, and even remembering it

Ambivalent in his actions

He complains about not being like my mother

Exaggerated and an extremist in his acts

I once wrote all this with hate, and he read it

I regret it, I’ve never meant to hurt him

But you must know that I admire him as much as I criticize him

Just like everyone does, and yet none of us deserve his contempt

His most difficult years he has passed them alone, stubborn

Man already injured by age,

Being athletic and careful was not enough to not get sick

In his first open-heart surgery, I wasn’t capable to say goodbye

he does not seem to have, and will not have, enough time to complete his projects;

skeptical about my plans, but always supportive;

It surprises him that I have taken a road so similar to his own,

I thing he has been a good example

I don’t complain, I just cry preparing to leave him

I love him

And this is because of him, this is a tribute on the eve of his death.

Slam poem for my father.