Category: Men

Have I Been Fathered Well?

trE

To my father and all fathers, fathering even in the midst of criticism and nonsense

My parents. Senior Prom. My photo of their photo. 2026 ©Tremaine L. Loadholt

Teenage parenting couldn’t have
been easy.
What were you thinking when I
came along?
Your first child—a girl, mirror image
of you in a tiny body…
The community practice baby,
Trial-and-error baby,
First model of how to get it
right and wrong.

That’s a lot of pressure for
someone who’d just
broken away from his own
mother’s home a year before.

You did it.

In your own way, you fathered
me in the shadows of
spirited descendants showing
you paths of least resistance.
You fathered me when you
wanted to give up, and
when street basketball
should’ve been more important.
You fathered me without the
knowledge of who I’d become…

Strong-willed
Opinionated
Open-minded
QUEER

Divorce cracked our foundation,
but it could never rupture our
walls.

You still are the first man I
ever loved, and you’ll
probably be the last.
My home away from home…
if my heart aches and I
need a voice of reason who
will be honest, too,
you’re a phone call away.

Have I been fathered well?
I have a father who proudly
speaks of his daughter—who
doesn’t shy away from the topic
of my sexuality, who has loved
every pet as he does his
human grandchildren, and still
cooks for me when I visit home.

He listens.
He paces his responses.
He preaches to me as he
would in his pulpit, but he
doesn’t overshoot the message.

Whenever I hug him, I feel safe.
And that is a feeling
worth remembering for years
to come.

That is a feeling I’ll always
know and look for when
trouble is lasting longer
than it should.

To all the fathers excelling at what they’ve been given—a gift, to those rearing the children of their communities, their nieces & nephews, godchildren, and young men who’ve lost their way. To the women and men living without fathers, praying to still have the heart of humanity, I see you. I love you. Hang in there.

Also shared in Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun via Substack.

taxes and gentlemen who lurk in the hearts of ruined women

trE

a free verse poem (NaPoWriMo #18)

Uncle Sam by Andy Warhol, ©1981. National Gallery of Art (Free-to-Use)

I stare at the voucher that tells me what I owe the State.
I was supposed to pay it by the 15th, but I’m ignoring it.
it’ll be there. it’s low enough for me not to be concerned
about additional feels that will soon incur, so why
the hell not?

I’m tired of taxes and the men with split
tongues telling me how helpful they
are for the community, yet my community
is a village struggling to keep food on
its table, while they line their pockets with
hard-earned money from workers who are
building early graves.

anything to keep them above water
while watching the rest of us drown…
how cunning—none of what we experience
trickles down to them, maybe it
should.

a friend of mine—who was once more
than a friend, but we hadn’t/haven’t
labeled it anything because what would
we name it?
he loves that I’m still around.
I know he always will be.

there’s comfort in our bullshit
and avoidance of our pain.

we’re out here holding each other
back because of ruin—I know more
about him than he’ll ever let on.
he knows more about me than anyone
else should… the moment we realize
nothing is here *waves hand in the air
absent-mindedly*, we’ll walk away.

I watch clips of men talking to other men—reeling
them in with flowery words and
grooming them on how to degrade women.
it is a flawless effort on their part—like the work
spills out without any labor.
they cackle and slap their hands to
their knees—putting on a show for people
hidden in CPUs and side-by-side monitors.

I tell the friend who is more than a friend,
but can’t be anything else, “I know this. If there is anything
I DO KNOW, I know how you feel about
and are about me,” but only after
he says, “My love and kindness for you are real.”
the damaged parts of me know he means
well, but guard is still up.

the yearning parts of me want to
let go, but I can smell vulnerability a mile
away, and his isn’t as tall as I’d like
it to be.

So I remain careful—relentless in my
aim to spare myself the torture of
dishing out money before I’m ready and
dishing out the body before it’s healed.
and somehow taxes and gentlemen who
lurk in the hearts of ruined women
merge into one.

I rebuild the wall.

 Scattered Words: Hardcover $26.00 USD|Scattered Words: eBook $11.00 USD|Scattered Words: Amazon

“When He Won’t But Someone Else Will”

trE

I wish I would pick up a case of water, and my man is in tow at the store with me!!!

YouTube

Honey, the number of times I’ve watched this video to catch every bit of what’s going on should be a crime. She has a pile of items in her hand; a toddler is tugging at the hem of her shirt; she bends down to pick up a case of water (looks like a 24-pack); and her “husband” is just standing there?!

WHERE ARE THE DIVORCE PAPERS, CUZ THIS AIN’T IT!

“And you didn’t get the case of water” is correct, cuz what are you even doing with her if you’re not helping?!

Why’d this pop up in my YouTube feed on my birthday?! Lol. This has made me so upset. Lol!

Caesuras and the blame game

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

AI-Generated image: A tangled web of two beautiful African American women; one with a pixie haircut, and the other has a curly afro. They are standing next to a handsome, African American & Native American man in the shadows. In the background, there are skyscrapers around them—the feel of any downtown area of a major city is what the image depicts.

Caesuras

it was in the
caesura, the pause
of his poem when I
knew his pain.

we carried the same
kind—blameless,
deep, unknown to
anyone else.

it felt balanced to
have a partner who
knew what I meant
when I said, “I can’t
talk about this, I
have to write it out,”
and not further
question the
conversation.

losing him, brought
me her a couple
years later, and she
knew what I thought
before I could
express it; a poet, a
performer. I think I
fell for her voice
before falling into
her heart.

but we shouldn’t
have been what we
were, and I never got
over being second
best.

every so often, I
think about him and
her, and the pauses I
have to take when I
see their faces in my
dreams. I am here
because they were
there.

the blame game

the day broke through my armor
and punched a hole in me…
I stumbled and wasted away down
to the ankles… it hurts to walk.
I’ve never suffered a blow this heavy
to the mind during the “BRR” months before.

the beginning of the year isn’t supposed
to feel this way.
tell that to the patients who only want to hear
what they want to hear—in the medical field,
when your insurance cost rises and your
deductible and out-of-pocket maximum do, too…

anyone around gets blamed for their pockets
being just as empty as yours.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discuss recent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.

Ali Siddiq and His Method of Comedy

trE

A storyteller trapped in a comedian’s body

Ali Siddiq vs the Younger Generation at the Gym

I had to find something “clean” to share with everyone because most of his standup is R A U N C H Y and full of cuss words, but I am here for this. Think Dave Chappelle and Richard Pryor had a love-child. It would be Ali Siddiq. The backstory for him is to be respected. He has been through so much, and I am happy to see him take his pain, form it into a method of therapy he can share with others, and become successful.

If you want to see some more of his hilarious delivery, go here.

Have you gotten your copy of Séduire: Serial Tales & Flash Fiction at Lulu in E-Book & Paperback versions, or Amazon in Paperback (only) yet?

I am on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing, as I discuss recent events related to my previous place of employment, including racism and discrimination, the growth I experienced after resigning from that company, and the foibles and overall experiences of life. I welcome your visit.