To have a daughter

Know she'll be fodder
For longers, barely hanger goners, wrongers
And her right to choose what she might and I might guide her to a bad choice looking for a voice like mine.
To know she'll grow and show the world a side of her I never want to see, in womanhood freedom, always my little girl to me, defend furiously, raise liberally.
A piece of me that may flourish or wither depending on weather, whether or not I'm a saint or myself and all the other factors of nature, nurture and luck. Influence in and out of control.
A goat to blame for short comings or a shout out at a lauding. Or just a forgotten memory if I don't last long enough.

What can be said

About it.

A one man show or a collective preformance.

Everybody, places please.

Dancing with mighty machines, so rough and yet so delicate, they know no feelings, they just want you to be gentle, get the blade spinning before you try to push it through the wood.

Let the hammer do the work. See your goal, follow through, get good first then fast will come naturally.

Math doesn't lie, has nothing to gain by it, if but the world had the same constraints. To master plumb, level, and square in a world that's constantly breathing, is a feat in and of itself. Follow the math.

Spiral in spiral out in the constant friction of an irregular number. Round tubes lashed with metal,  vaulted towards the ceiling through sweat. A different sweat than what you get in an unconditioned classroom.

A constant learning, an invested advisor facilitating a curriculum while espousing an ideal. Ideal is a goal, oft times not the end result, this is the beginning, not the end.

Please visit www.bleedpoetry.com (thanks)