Moryé D. Chandler, Sr.






My name is Moryé D. Chandler, Sr. Writing—for me—is an art form and, as I’ve experienced, serves as a means of relief from life’s challenges.

The styles of writing most suited to me are prose and, occasionally, poetry—especially socially conscious submissions. I hope to reach the reader where they are, just as other writers have reached me.

I am 49 years old and the father of three gifted sons and one extremely brilliant daughter. They spur my desire to succeed. 


She spoke to me in no veiled words: “I only love you because you fathered my child”

Hmm. I asked for that I suppose.

Never knew nothing as bad as that hurt, I guess that’s how life goes.

Looks like we’ll never know, there’s no telling what we could have been, sharing life, growing old together, memories to acquiesce in.

Being with her was the only thing in life I was proud of success in, but it looks like in the end it remains the same, I’ve failed again.

She’d never spoken these words before, I’m in shock yet I have to accept it. loneliness is the struggle of man and I just don’t want to address it. I confess it, life is a burden to me, a weight I’m ready to shed, I don’t have the courage to bring it about but I’m sure I’d be better off dead.

Would she even mourn for me or would my death be a door on its hinges, the close of a chapter in her life, a means for her to end it.

I’ve descended into a place of darkness it seems I’m comfortable in, and come to question my value to GOD who claims to be more than my friend.

If what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger then I’d rather be a weakling, I’m tired of carrying on and being strong, I’ve reached my ceiling.

In concealing all my brokenness, I smile and keep my face on, but if you saw my inner man then death your eyes would lay on.

So I stay on though I’m not long for this game I’m forced to play, I’m hoping son to grow my wings so I can fly away.

How does a person love someone for only sharing a child?

I laid with her and gave myself, an act that she defiled.

So as I sit amid a pile of broken hopes and dreams, she goes on with her life as though I never meant a thing.

The words, they came from her as if she’d held them for a while: “I only love you because you fathered my child.”