Sir… Where?

(for the fathers who call it love)

---

You say you always loved me.

Sir…

Where?

Was it hiding in the nine-year silence?

Folded into the voicemails you never played back?

Tucked behind the half-hearted apologies

and “been busy” excuses

you recycled like old receipts?

Where was it?

Because I looked.

I looked in every birthday you missed.

Every emergency you didn’t return a call for.

Every simple request

you shrugged off like a coat you didn’t like the color of.

I looked for it—

in the mailbox

on Fridays,

under the stairs

when I cried without reason,

in the shape of clouds

on field trip days

when I had no lunch.

I searched my birthday cake

to see if maybe it was hiding

between the layers.

I listened for it

in the dial tone after every ring

you didn’t answer.

I checked my report cards

thinking maybe if I got enough A’s,

it would show up in the margins.

I opened every cheap toy

hoping it would whisper

he loves you, he’s just busy.

I even looked for it

in the mirror—

trying to find which part of my face

was too hard to love.

I checked my shoes,

maybe love had run off

with the laces.

I dug through the couch cushions,

where everything else we lost

seemed to end up.

I looked inside books

you never read to me,

under the Band-Aids

I learned to apply on my own.

On the day I graduated,

you actually showed up.

You said you were proud.

But I didn’t see it—

not in your face,

not in your eyes.

I even searched

the faces of other parents,

trying to find

what you must have meant.

So I checked the sky—

but all I saw

were clouds,

trying their best

not to rain.

You say you always loved me.

But love doesn’t vanish on Tuesdays

and reappear on Christmas with nothing to give

but a worn-out story

and a wallet full of impulse buys for people

who don’t even know your middle name.

---

Let’s be honest.

You loved the idea of being a father.

You just didn’t want to do it.

You wanted the title, not the tasks.

The fantasy, not the follow-through.

The “you look just like me,”

but not the “do you need anything today?”

---

Love is a verb.

Not a voicemail you ignore.

Not a check you write too late.

Not a memory you romanticize

to make yourself feel like you showed up.

You say you always loved me.

Sir…

Where?

Because the rent was due.

My stomach was empty.

And your name was not on the emergency contact list

because I knew better

than to expect a ghost

to hold my hand.

🧠 For the Search Bar Warriors

Absent father poems. Spoken word about deadbeat dads. Emotional letter to an absent parent. When fathers say they loved you but never showed up. Poetic essay on fatherhood and neglect. Child's perspective on inconsistent love. Graduation without a parent. Healing from father wounds. Black daughter father issues. Searching for love that never came. Father’s love and abandonment. Generational trauma and forgiveness. Spoken word about parental absence. Emotional accountability in families. Disappearing dads and hollow apologies.

Spoken word about father absence

Healing from father wound

Emotional letter to absent parent

Father’s love and abandonment

Generation trauma and absent dads

Child’s perspective on absent father

Coping with father neglect