| Biographical Poetry posted July 12, 2022 |
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A letter I had hoped for.
From You, To Me
by Sally Law
Show us Your Early Poetry Vol. 3 Contest Winner
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Writing Prompt Share with us one of your oldest pieces of poetry, exactly as you wrote it. It doesn?t need to be your earliest work - just something old enough that you can see your progression as a writer. I want to see all those excessive ellipses, capitals at the start of every line, the abundance of semicolons, the pretentious repetition, the unnecessary line spaces that are..... SO..... IMPORTANT.... to my art! I want you to swear on your honour you won't edit it before posting (adding an image is allowed, as we're in Fanstory Land). Other than that, no limitations. Previous entrants are more than welcome, but remember these must be pieces you haven?t shared previously on Fanstory. Go digging in your old school notebooks with random scribblings in them - find us something fun and interesting! |
Show us Your Early Poetry Vol. 3 Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
#31 July 2022 |
Thank you for reading. I wrote this poem in 2020 and stored it in FanStory edit. I never posted it, and as I read it now, I'm not sure why.
I do not believe alcoholism is a disease. It is a choice, and a bad one. My lifelong sorrow is being separated from my dad at any early age due to his alcoholism. This is the letter I hoped to receive from him, but never did.
When I visited him, he could hardly believe how much I had grown since the day he left our family. I was four the first time he left, eight the second, and nine the night my mother moved us to Florida to start a new life.
Although I sent him letters and updated school photos, he couldn't comprehend that I had aged. The last time I visited him was 1972 when he was living at the Atlanta Rescue Mission, and he still had the same photo of me on his dresser from 1964.
He was so damaged from his alcoholic lifestyle, he couldn't make it to my wedding. My brother, Robbie, gladly stood in his place and gave me away. Dad died two weeks later on January 1, 1976, two weeks after I married Jack.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. I do not believe alcoholism is a disease. It is a choice, and a bad one. My lifelong sorrow is being separated from my dad at any early age due to his alcoholism. This is the letter I hoped to receive from him, but never did.
When I visited him, he could hardly believe how much I had grown since the day he left our family. I was four the first time he left, eight the second, and nine the night my mother moved us to Florida to start a new life.
Although I sent him letters and updated school photos, he couldn't comprehend that I had aged. The last time I visited him was 1972 when he was living at the Atlanta Rescue Mission, and he still had the same photo of me on his dresser from 1964.
He was so damaged from his alcoholic lifestyle, he couldn't make it to my wedding. My brother, Robbie, gladly stood in his place and gave me away. Dad died two weeks later on January 1, 1976, two weeks after I married Jack.
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