No Father’s Hands
There was no father’s hand to guide me
Through the storms that cracked the sky.
No voice to say, I’m here, son,
When the night pressed heavy on my chest.
When bullies came like shadows in the schoolyard,
I learned to stand alone,
Fists not just for fighting,
But for holding my ground in a world
That kept pushing me back.
When fear twisted my stomach
And the air felt too thin,
There was no steady arm,
No calm voice saying,
I’ve got your back, don’t be afraid.
In the awkward maze of adolescence,
Where other boys heard quiet wisdom
About love and the ways of the heart,
I wandered without a map,
Knocking on closed doors,
Learning by rejection,
Carrying the weight of my own mistakes.
In school, where I fell behind,
The lessons were beaten into me,
Not taught with patience,
But driven in with the sting of shame.
No one told me that learning
Could be a light instead of a whip.
I grew up in the echo of absence,
Where every victory was self-made,
Every scar a silent teacher.
I built my spine from the stones
Others threw at me,
And my hope from the thin threads
Of moments when kindness
Happened to pass by.
I do not wish this life
On any child—
To grow without a safe place to fall,
Without a voice in the dark saying,
You are worth more than the world will tell you.
And yet—
Here I stand,
Not because I was shown the way,
But because I refused to vanish.
—By Lucelar
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