I’ve often hear of girls sob stories,
They have been worn out,
They have been torn apart,
And they have had hands laid on them way too many times for my comfort…

Then I tend to think,
What if that girl was my daughter?
Could I get mad at the ignorant boy who Is probably just taking after his father,
Or would I have to accept that to be simple revenge for the hearts I put mass graves,
Then pissed on,  and stomped out,
Or would it just be society…

What could I do to stop her emotions, purity, and self respect  from going into coffins,
And to let her know that if she’s not that boys queen, then she’s still my princess,
That she doesn’t need to rush to throw her heart,
Because I can keep it safe on my night stand for her,
That I love her and support her…

Or would I be the stressful father that only pushed her into the arms of her murderer,
Led her to believe that it’s okay for her to be cheated on and beaten on by young men,
Simply because I was too “manly” and not man enough to hug her…

To my future daughter,
Even though You’re probably 10 years away breathing,
Just know that daddy will be there,
As long as I have the chance to breath,
I’ll take you to school,
Teach you how to ride a bike,
Let your mother give you “the talk”
Choke slam the fuck out any boy that is anything like I was,
Give that boy “the talk”
And walk you down the Isle,
And to tell you “I love you”
Even when you think I’m not cool anymore…


12 thoughts on “To My Future Daughter – Shawn Price

  1. The Debt

    By Edward Verrall Lucas

    NO more old England will they see—
    Those men who’ve died for you and me.

    So lone and cold they lie; but we,
    We still have life; we still may greet
    Our pleasant friends in home and street; 5
    We still have life, are able still
    To climb the turf of Bignor Hill,
    To see the placid sheep go by,
    To hear the sheep-dog’s eager cry,
    To feel the sun, to taste the rain, 10
    To smell the Autumn’s scents again
    Beneath the brown and gold and red
    Which old October’s brush has spread,
    To hear the robin in the lane,
    To look upon the English sky. 15

    So young they were, so strong and well,
    Until the bitter summons fell—
    Too young to die.
    Yet there on foreign soil they lie,
    So pitiful, with glassy eye 20
    And limbs all tumbled anyhow:
    Quite finished, now.

    On every heart—lest we forget—
    Secure at home—engrave this debt!

    Too delicate is flesh to be 25
    The shield that nations interpose
    ’Twixt red Ambition and his foes—
    The bastion of Liberty.
    So beautiful their bodies were,
    Built with so exquisite a care: 30
    So young and fit and lithe and fair.
    The very flower of us were they,
    The very flower, but yesterday!
    Yet now so pitiful they lie,
    Where love of country bade them hie 35
    To fight this fierce Caprice—and die.
    All mangled now, where shells have burst,
    And lead and steel have done their worst;
    The tender tissues ploughed away,
    The years’ slow processes effaced: 40
    The Mother of us all—disgraced.

    And some leave wives behind, young wives;
    Already some have launched new lives:
    A little daughter, little son—
    For thus this blundering world goes on. 45
    But never more will any see
    The old secure felicity,
    The kindnesses that made us glad
    Before the world went mad.
    They’ll never hear another bird, 50
    Another gay or loving word—
    Those men who lie so cold and lone,
    Far in a country not their own;
    Those men who died for you and me,
    That England still might sheltered be 55
    And all our lives go on the same
    (Although to live is almost shame).

  2. Hi Shawn love this, I wish more could read it, we have major problems like this here in South Africa as well. And thanks for liking my poems. In fact I think I will share this on my Facebook page.

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