Black Rose
My dad is a black rose.
His dark, tattooed look disguises dads underlying glow.
With the clothes on his back raggedy as a chewed up dog toy,
And the tiredest of eyes that could sleep for a year straight,
No one can hide the strength and care that this man has, it's written across dads wrinkled cheeks.
His laugh as bubbly as they are blown,
Like Santa on Christmas, fills the house with joy.
His long beard changes from black to gray like day and night
After a long 6 to 6 work shift, 3 more gray have grown like weeds.
When his tired eyes are visible to the world
But he disguises them with his last string of hope.
That's when my heart is aching for his pain.
I begin to long for him to know how much I'm grateful for all he does.
I know he won't show it, but he's hurting.
I cry for his unshown weakness and provide him with my utmost loving version of myself.
I want him to know I am here for him, I want him to see that I care.
I wish to return all his petals that have fallen for me back where they belong.
My dad is a black rose, the prettiest rose in the garden.
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