THIS ONE GOES OUT TO... (POEM FOR ALL THE HURT DADS)

THIS ONE  GOES OUT

                                         to all the divorced dads or once-partners whose evil cunt exes keep their kids from them for fun or profit or just plain hatred. 

To the dads who got tired of hearing nothing but the female side of the story all the fucking time.

To the dads who waited expectantly and excitedly for the measly allocated weekly Skype call that just never came from lands near or far, or came hours or days late without explanation, or bored who-cares excuses. 

To the dads who grit their teeth and didn’t scream or bark angrily in their vicious and vindictive ex’s face for her mental and emotional bullying and cruelty and punishing of him and the kid.

To the dads who had the circumstances of their breakup changed around for the benefit of their ex cunt, until what actually happened bore no resemblance whatsoever to what the kid, or others, was told.

To the dads who wanted to cut the throat of the hateful-predator-turned-poor-victim they had impregnated, but who would never act on it.

To the dads who wasted countless thousands on greedy lawyers' fees that they could have spent on their offspring.

To the dads who nearly had to break their fingers in private unguarded early-hours moments to stop them texting or emailing the usual stupid cunt and telling them what they truly finally and forever thought of them, but who didn’t speak and forever held their lack of peace, because the ex would just use it against them and stop them talking to the kid yet again. 

To the dads who wanted to tear idiot middle class careerist women a new burst arsehole when they occasionally bumped into their brand of cold collegiate manhating dogshit where they barked and laughed at men for their own twisted worthless private reasons, then wondered why they couldn’t get a man. 

To the dads who wanted to spit in the face of mentally and emotionally unbalanced newspaper and internet feminist columnists for the constant shit they shovelled onto men, for money and personal hateful enjoyment, out of deep personal damage.

To the dads who got sneered at and smeared in a breakup or divorce as wifebeaters, womanisers, skinflints, child molesters, racists, alcoholics, drug addicts, perverts, unfit fathers, deadbeat dads, whatfuckingever, by the evil scheming unafraid scum cunts who took out restraining orders in the first volley in the battle of the sexes as a tactical decision to help them gain custody. 

To the dads who got torn apart online by yowling howling scowling scum bitch hordes supporting their supposed sister as she pissed all over the blame-free innocent man, getting back at their own men as they did so, or for their lack of man and attendant frustration and hatred. 

To the dads who recall in perfect joyous painful detail that amazing day when their kid first opened their eyes and their stunned hospital-light-clad daddy was the first thing they ever saw in soft-focus perfect-clarity vision. 

To the dads who heard songs mentioning kids by Johnny Cash or The Smiths or Eminem or somebody and who wanted to scream and cry or maybe even finally just die, end all the unending pain, pulling the smothering covers up over their heads and letting the tears damburst out and the until-they’re-eighteen waves of pain and despair just roar and crash agonisingly through them. 

To the dads who didn’t get to talk to their kid on important anniversaries, even when prearranged, with no excuse given. 

To the dads who don’t know where their kids are.

To the dads who vomited at the domestic violence industry demonising of men, knowing that women are just as capable of being evil cunts as men are, and sometimes far worse.

To the dads who wanted to vomit scream annihilate murder disappear knowing how much their eternal mental and emotional pain was enjoyed by the spoiled princess ex cunt. 

To the dads who stayed far longer with the confidence-sapping, control freak domineering harridan they had kids with than they should have because they couldn’t stand the idea of breaking up the family home. 

To the dads who lied in front of the judge so that that kids wouldn’t be taken out of the worthless ex’s custody and into care. 

To the dads who just wanted their ex cunt to somehow die so they could have custody. 

To all the dads who saw a sequel to a kids' film and remembered taking their kid to the first one, but couldn't take them to the new one.

To the dads who will have to batten down therapeutic mental and emotional hatches when they start to think painful dead-family things for the rest of their lives.

To the dads who gave large sums of child support money to the black sucking hole of their greedy ex cunt knowing she would spend the money on herself. 

To the dads who looked at the long list of unread emails in the account they set up for their kid and who despaired. 

To the dads wanted to smack some unthinking boor dolt complaining about taking his kids to school or dance lessons or the park, when they would have given their right arm to be able to do the same with their own offspring. 

To the dads whose hearts joyously leaped into their mouth when they got that first unexpected Facebook message or email from a long-gone kid.

To the dads who said nothing and listened to the latest crap popstars on their PC or laptop or phone endlessly with their kid and who didn’t throw it off the wall. 

To the dads who suffered through a million bad cat videos for love. 

To the dads who lost their jobs and minds because of the stress and madness their exes gleefully put them through then just smilingly strolled along with not one fucking glance at the mangled car crash of human wreckage they had just left behind, getting a new man and life in minutes, if they didn’t already have one lined up when they finished with poor old deadbeat dad. 

To the dads whose cunt wife or partner or girlfriend found a new man on business trips and who had their kid tell him the guy existed.

To the dads who didn’t know their ex had gotten remarried before she told gawking fucks on Facebook. 

To the dads who put up with years of their cunt lying around the house unemployed and farting and tearing their man apart online to dumb voyeur cunts, leeching off his hard work and not wanting to go back to work themselves. 

To the dads who had money stolen from their joint bank accounts by greedy vicious hateful bullying scum cunt harridans whose only redeeming factor in life was that they had borne some decent guy a child.

To the dads who lost everything they had worked hard to build up.

To the dads who realised too late what a complete and utter fucking nutcase they had married, and had her friends tell him that she was always like this and they knew it, but didn’t think it was their place to tell him when they were still together.

To the dads who turned down attractive women hitting on them at work to go home to a perpetually unhappy, ever-fatter arsehole wife or girlfriend who didn’t even have to look after the kids because they were out all day at daycare.

To the dads who cringed when they thought of the lying dogshit pouring out of the forked tongue of the bitch they used to be shackled to about them to friends and enemies and random strangers on the net, with the cunt looking for sympathy or just having hateful soulcrusher fun.

To the dads married to horrible cunt narcissists who never admitted being at fault, who lied and cheated and stole and hit their man, and attacked them with whatever came to hand or mouth or fist, but who never retaliated. 

To the dads whose cunt in-laws always hated them and made no secret of it because of religion or race or class, even though they and their own parents were never anything but civil to these scumsucker uppity fucks. 

To the dads who screamed angry hateful laughter at pious virtuous women on the net or telly who crowed how much better and less violent women were than men. 

To the dads tragically murdered by their psychotic partners.

To the dads whose kids were tragically murdered by their psychotic partners.

To the dads who learned how not to let it get to them, because anger at the ex would give the cunt power over them, and that just wasn’t happening.

To the dads who listened sorrowfully to their uncles, brothers, cousins, friends, dads, and their stories about their own physical and mental and emotional beatings at the hands of their insane harridan cunt partners. 

To the dads who nearly vomited when their kid became old enough to start carrying back some of the poison and lies and vitriol and scumfuckery their ex was telling the kid about them. 

To the dads who had their kids twisted against them by evil cunts and who eventually had to stop seeing their kid because it was too painful and confusing for the poor child to have this negativity in their life constantly about the daddy they loved, but didn’t know if they should because mommy said they shouldn't. 

To the dads whose kids were smarter mentally and emotionally when they were still in single digits of age than their arsehole mothers. 

To the dads whose hearts broke when their kid told them some of the petulant, spoiled, cunty dogshit their ex said or did on a daily basis. 

To the dads who sneered at the pussywhipped faggots their exes hooked up with purely for a wage packet and meal ticket, and whom the dads never saw smile when they dropped the kid off. 

To the dads who knew why the man never smiled.

To the dads who almost took secret pleasure in the kid telling them that the new daddy ran around after them and mommy, but who also knew it was just another life man’s life destroyed by a spoiled, angry, narcissistic, mental and emotional serial killer who was just bitter that they weren’t born rich. 

To the dads who derive hope from the joy of the dads and kids reunited years later. 

To the dads who despise the pathetic little sperm donor boys who ran away from their children and responsibilities after getting somebody pregnant.

To the dads who took the time to go to as many school events with the wee one as they could, despite the ex making it difficult.

To the dads who had to sign divorce agreements under duress. 

To the dads who were blackmailed for cash when they were going to take their kid on a foreign trip to meet the desperate loving overseas grandparents, but who were told the week before that they couldn’t do it unless they gave the ex more money. 

To the dads who were pulled up into court by a lunatic who made up a huge child support figure.

To the dads who got thrown in jail for no reason by a scum cunt sociopath female manhater judge who only saw dollar or pound or ruble or euro or rand signs and had no empathy for the father. 

To the dads who were asked to pay far beyond what they could from their wages. 

To the dads who shrugged and added their names to the Facebook campaign to have the insane judge disbarred. 

To the dads for whom justice was nothing but a financial transaction with the terms made up by two insane cunts between them. 

To the dads who tried their hardest when married or divorced but it was never enough. 

To the dads who had endless tiresome waves of their ex’s own low self-esteem or bitterness or hatred crash over them morning, noon and night.

To the dads who thankfully got away from cunts for whom everybody else was wrong but them. 

To the dads who tried to be nice in emails and who got random insane shit about how shit their side of the family was. 

To the dads who were disgusted by the same sneering cunt all of a sudden crowing and basking in reflected glory because the kid won a prestigious prize. 

To the dads who got cruel mocking email abuse from the new man, and who never replied asking how come these pussywhipped faggots never said these things to their face. 

To the dads who could only guess at what lies the bitter cunt had told the new man through the prism of her own madness and bitterness to make him send emails like that. 

To the dads who were driven into the arms of drink and drugs and death by the mental and emotional pain they were in because of not being near their child. 

To the dads who just couldn’t take it anymore. 

To the dads who were and are worth far more than the vagina-bearing cunts they married or knocked up, and who weren’t worth the shit off their man’s shoes. 

To the dads who thought of their kid at bedtime, and the stories they used to read the tired-eyed, sleep-blinking youngster.

To the dads the legal system was weighted against and who couldn’t afford a lawyer and who lost their kids and their lives. 

To the dads who nodded and smiled bitterly when a woman said that their ex was the kind of horrible bitch who gave women a bad name, and that normal, decent women hated her type. 

To the dads who are now dead inside.

To the dads who saw full families out in the park or the mall or the street and who thought about how it was all taken away from them without it being their fault and who got bitter acid heartburn at the poignant throbbing pain they felt in their chest. 

To the dads who fucked up but tried to make it better.

To the dads who cried over the photos of a dead young El Salvadorean dad with his toddler daughter tucked into his black teeshirt, who had drowned in the merciless Rio Grande trying to swim their way to impoverished freedom in the Greatest Country In The World (TM).

To the dads tired of constantly hearing about how great women supposedly are these jaded-feminist days.

To the dads demonised by today’s current worthless pop-psychologist trends. 

To the dads who put food on the table when the ex cunt couldn’t or wouldn’t. 

To the dads who gave all they could to their greedy ex, with her still always wanting more, more, more. 

To the dads who grow up despairing because they see the ex’s greed rubbing off on the kid and turning them into a smarmy entitled-feeling shopaholic phone-obsessed brat who will be a nightmare for somebody further down the line. 

To the dads who saw some young teenage boy mooning after some girl he didn’t have the experience to see was a my-shit-don’t-stinker, and who shook their head sadly at the pain to come for the poor youngster. 

To the dads who vomited at the new middle class dogshit fourth wave of feminism coming out of idiot America, with its choking restrictive thought and language holds. 

To the dads who nearly screamed and had to turn off the fucking radio when some young corporate muzak maggot came on song-whining about how life was worthless and meaningless now that he had lost his girl. 

To the dads who understood the urges to smash and beat and kill evil scheming bullying malicious women, but who never once laid their hands on her, despite her trying to provoke him into it. 

To the dads who knew that beating up their cunt would only be in her legal best interests and who punched a wall or themselves instead. 

To the dads who said they would kill the next woman in their life who fucked them over, and who meant it.

To the dads who gazed in amazed disgust at the constant media stories in America about entitled-feeling faggots killing their kids and wives and and themselves and not comprehending how anyone could ever kill an innocent child. 

To the dads who committed suicide, the poor tortured bastards.

To the dads who understood that suicidal pain, but who never acted on it because they could never do that to their child. 

To the dads who found a now-too-small old pair of jeans of the kid’s in a cupboard and whose heads spun with dizziness and pain and memories.

To the dads who never had a confusing succession of new women running in-and-out of the kid’s life.

To the dads whose memories of their child’s life are now stained with pain and can’t be accessed anymore without now wanting to cry or scream or punch something or somebody.

To the dads who apologised to their own parents for bringing the worthless human shit who had borne them a much-beloved grandchild into their own lives, but also brought them so much pain. 

To the dads who nearly started crying in the supermarket when some tune came on in there that reminded them of some happy time with their kid, suddenly easily slipping under their defences, and who choked back a sob. 

To the dads who couldn’t talk to their kids out of ex cunt spite and glee when his parents were dying and who thought they would faint on a daily basis from the overwhelming inescapable pain. 

To the dads who endured and still endure. 

To the dads who see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

To the dads who never became bitter, or who managed to keep it to precise short cleansing bursts. 

To the dads who came close to murdering their ex, but who couldn’t do that to their kid. 

To the dads who were so desperate to speak to their child that they fantasised about going round to their ex’s flat and standing outside the window and screaming up to see if the kid would respond before the cops came. 

To the dads who had their visitation scheduled fucked with or thrown out the window on a whim.

To the dads who had the relationship with their kid damaged beyond repair and who disappeared off forever to another painless country or pure escape-reality fantasy.

To the dads who run old faded memories of their child on a swing or at the cinema through their fevered minds late at night and reason it’s almost worth the pain of doing so just to try and recall a happy important memory. 

To the dads who hope their kid knows them well enough, and their ex well enough, to know who’s the bullshit artist. 

To the dads who know for a sureshot fact their kid will come live with them the minute they’re legally able. 

To the dads plotting for their kid’s sunblinded longterm future. 

To the dads who sighed and turned their faces away at stories in the news about kids abused or killed by evil women. 

To the dads who kept in constant contact with letters and packages and who never know if they ever get through, but kept the receipts and proof photos to maybe show the kid one day that they had been thinking about them all along. 

To the dads whose kid randomly got in contact with them through social media after decades and whose smile and happiness could have lit up the whole joyous conspiratorial world. 

To the dads envious of a dad walking and laughing with his child and being overwhelmed by the rush of old memories. 

To the dads who nearly cried in public when they saw a kid who reminded them of the one they had not seen or been allowed to talk to in so long. 

To all the dads who could only follow their kid's life on an occasionally-updated Instagram account.

To the dads who didn’t scream at the lies told about them in court. 

To the dads who didn’t tear out their own throat when the kid said how lucky they were to have two dads. 

To the dads who grind their teeth but say nothing when they hear how worthless and juvenile and braindead-seeming the fat ugly cunt new man in the ex cunt’s life is. 

To the dads who are in constant pain that some other fucker who doesn't even care gets to spend far more time with their kids than they do. 

To the dads who make the most of their time with their kids, taking them to the cinema, the park, the fair, the museum, the farm, the pool, the mall, anywhere where the fat ex would be too lazy to take them as it would eat into her computer-wanking or nail-polishing time. 

To the dads who lovingly took their kids to the library at the weekend and got them their first library card and helped them learn to read and impressed the value of knowledge on them. 

To the dads who internally flushed in warm secret success happiness when the women in the library said their kid was one of their faves and meant it.

To the dads who let their kid win in close-run boardgames. 

To the dads who reversed the old family trends they grew up with and filled their kid with praise and happiness and confidence and enough smiles and laughter to fuel the planet for a perfect fertile hour. 

To the dads who let their wee one listen to songs with swearing in them, making them hush-hush laughingly promise not to tell their mother.

To the dads who looked after a pet they didn’t want in their home so the kid would have a furry or splashy plaything to come home to at weekends. 

To the dads who were burned so painfully and horrifically by what they went through that they stayed single for the rest of their lives. 

To the dads who did all they could, when they could, and even when they felt they couldn't.

To the dads who stayed in touch when they could just have run away forever and their kid would have no memories of the beautiful family truth.

To the dads happy and glad they have those precious dimlit sleigh-awaiting, poorly-wrapped-present memories of their kid at Christmas forever.

To the dads who taught their kid to haltingly-then-perfectly ride a bike, hair swishing in the newly-minted wind, just like their own dad did. 

To the dads who proudly showed off their kid on the beach or restaurant or in the street to smiling women of all ages. 

To the dads who marvel at the beautiful or funny or haunting or wise things their kid has said to them, knowing they will be far smarter than daddy is when they’re older, if they’re not already. 

To the dads who hated sunbathing but who slathered up in sunscreen so they could take the kid down into the pool or lake for a hot greasy yucky swim. 

To the dads who just never got a fair crack of the whip.

To the dads who are forever misunderstood, by themselves and others. 

To the dads who were lied to, and lied about, but who maintained their dignity.

To the dads who had to go back to a pre-fatherhood life that didn't fit them anymore, and who found it meaningless without their child in it.

To the dads made to feel inferior in a modern manhating society, but who are far superior than one-dimensional feminist bullshit dogma. 

To the dads who know there are some scum women who should never be allowed anywhere the opposite sex, and have the mental, emotional and physical scars to prove it.

To the dads who didn't allow the scalding bitterness or overwhelming pain to eat them alive.

To the dads whose ears still ring with the historic laughter of the kid in the car or park or bath, the untouchable memory of the truth of the beauty of life with a child. 

To the dads who tried to wash the shampoo from their kid’s hair but were not great at it and made them scream and cry by heartbreaking accident, but who mastered it. 

To the dads who changed all the nappies. 

To the dads who sat guard at night when the ex crept off into finite opiate sleep after the hospital post-birth painflesh blues. 

To the dads still trying to do their best. 

To the dads gritting their teeth and smiling against the worst. 

To the dads who still look forward to the future.

To the dads who still throw their kids on their shoulders during visiting time and let them laugh and kiss the cloudy revelling blue skies. 

To the dads who write plenty of notes about what their kid did for them to read later, stammering and crying over an 18^th birthday past-actions present. 

To the dads who introduced their kid to their own old fave children’s films and loved it when the kid loved them too. 

To the dads who felt the timeless eternal evolution of the human race going on in them as they fed their child, seeing themselves mirrored decades before in the same way their parents must have seen them. 

To the dads whose hearts burst with joy at how beautiful and vulnerable their kid’s scrawny buttocks looked when they washed them in the sink. 

To the dads overwhelmed by the beauty of their offspring. 

To the dads weirded out by the strange flicks and kicks and slides of their unseen-but-soon-coming-daddy kid in their mother’s belly.

To the dads lost and low and lonely wherever they are. 

To the sad dads, the glad dads, the mad dads, the you've-been-had dads. 

To the dads who felt their other half fit neatly and seamlessly back into them when they went down on their knees and hugged and held and rocked the kid for the first time in ages at the airport or park or wherever, happy tears boiling down their face.

To the dads who remind themselves to get or take a more modern wallet snapshot of the kid because the old one is looking outdated and they can’t have that. 

To the dads who just had to step away for their own sanity and safety and dignity, or that of their child. 

To the dads who found new happiness with another woman, and who got treated as well as they deserved to be.

To the dads whose hearts burn with the future-coming joy of eternal reconciliation. 

To the dads tired of all the anger and pain and hatred. 

To the dads who can almost feel sorry for their exes because, no matter what happens, they still have to be themselves for the rest of their miserable pathetic lives.

To the dads who stopped hurting themselves.

To the dads who calmed down.

To the dads who started laughing again...eventually.

To the dads scanning the horizon pregnant with possibilities for the future of their beloved family.

To the dads who get along with, and who care for, the stepbrothers and stepsisters. 

To the dads who let things slide when they need to. 

To the dads who laugh in the dark, who smile at the approving moon. 

To the dads in pain and agitation who may never find peace, in the hope that they may do so. 

To the dads who finally got to hang out with the kid again and talked to them like they were the age when they last saw them, got sharply reprimanded by the I'm-a-big-girl-or-boy-now, daddy, and who laughed and okayed their way to a new level of long-awaited happy parental relationship and joy.

To the had-enough dads who ran out of their flat jumped into their car screeched off listening to loud music battered off towards the motorway or back roads of freedom laughing and SCCCREEEEEAAAAMMMMIIIIINNNGGG along to loud fast music because it was a sanity-saver and better than kicking or punching holes in the walls and who felt perfect and right and unbeatable and unstoppable as they sped up and moved into some fast-forward hot new better future painless dimension to come-

THE (NEVER) END