There's always a fucking catch.
Too good to be true, too real to be alive.
That's my reason for constant mind adventures.
Escaping what's at the front of my mind.
And reaching to depths of no worries, my creativity and better ideas.
I stop bringing myself down, time to move on.
Quit thinking about all the bad shit.
I'll get my own one day, and then I'll fucking be happy.
Get me out of this house, get me a job and find me a REAL man.
Someone to hold me close at night, when I shiver from the dropping temps.
Someone to kiss me awake and eat breakfast with me.
Appreciate me for who I am and accepts my faults.
Flowers on occasion, kisses non stop and fun 24/7
I'm no longer upsetting myself over inconsideration.
No more messing with my head and fucking with my emotions.
I can't force someone to care and I always want to try.
At first so wonderful and now with an ago.
My subconscious will always drift there, the small kisses I got.
What the fuck happened? I did it and I have no idea how.
Maybe I try to damn hard, maybe I'm too vulnerable.
What the fuck it is, I at least have the right to know.
I at least need some one to give me enough courtesy to fucking care.
My dad is a wonderful man, he does have his downfalls, like everyone, but in general he is the best. He is respected by everyone I know, and his youngest son looks up to him with wonder and praise. I think that all of his kids do in a our own different way. I would just like to explain mine.
Any little kid will tell you how frightening my dad looks to a young person. His graying hair, including those trifling sideburns, encompass his perfectly circular bald spot. His head, however, is normally hidden by a baseball cap of any kind, usually Friese Construction spelled out proudly on it. The bald spot is constantly worn down with a kiss on it as many times as possible from my older sister and I. His bushy eyebrows shadow his dark blue eyes, that change colors with his moods. His nose is slightly larger than most, but his face is gracefully aged and it fits him wonderfully. His mouth is full of old, worn teeth and not to mention it's full of old, swear words and constant smart-ass remarks. His usually daily attire includes a white T-shirt, white carpenter pants, a flannel shirt with a pack of Mall Pall 100s, a lighter and a pen in his left hand breast pocket., a tool belt and his work boots and almost always in his left hand is a white and red lunch box. His pants usually hang down like he's some sort of thug, but he's just an aging man with no rear end.
Not only does my dad have an unique appearance, he has an one- of-a-kind vehicle. Made and bought in 1982, his brown Chevy pick- up was a steal. It ran great, looked fabulous and was a lot of fun for my sister and I. The day he brought it home, he painted ‘little darlin'" in yellow on the passenger door, for my mom, my sister and I. TO this day it's still there. His truck has 250,000 miles on it, he has to stop every 10 miles to put a quart of oil in it and it doesn't go over 45 miles per hour, but my dad is proud of his running truck and the effort and hard work he's put into it.
The biggest and greatest thing this my dad has ever done is supporting, tolerating, loving and raising for kids, along with the help of my mother. He has fours kids, with four completely different personalities, and four different needs, wants and arguments. With the loving support of my mother my dad has brought us up beautifully. His personality slightly changes when talking, arguing or discussing things with each kid. His ways of handling problems, minor set back, and major disappointments varies with the personality of each child.
Two things have remained unconditional throughout it all. Throughout heartbreaks, disappointments, arguments, hospital visits, outrageous bills, moving out and tense times my dad has always loved me and always knows how to make every last one of us smile. His beautiful personality shines through above everything else. His not-so-funny jokes still make us laugh and the outrageous resemblance between my dad and I bring a warm feeling to my heart every time I think about it. Our tempers are so identical they clash, but once all the yelling is over we are smiling all over again (give or take a few hours). Our Wubker pride provides hostility and tension, but its almost like we take turns swallowing our own pride to break the tension.
My dad and I will always be the same, almost the same person if some one would examine us really close. He'll always be my dad, no matter how many disagreements one day brings and he'll always be the absolutely most important person in my life.
I may not act like I love my dad, and I may not act like I want to be around him or any of my family for that matter, but whenever I am away I always take into consideration the disappointment or approval my dad would have on my actions. He's always with me, no matter how much he thinks he isn't. He's my dad, my soldier, my hero, my friend and I'll always be his little girl.
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