My children were so blessed....They had a father who loved them, taught them, was good to them...A father who never beat them, molested them, fuck....never even raised a voice to them....
When my daughter was around 5 or so, I wrote this poem....I was so jealous of her, she had loving parents and a father that was a FATHER..
My Daughter/Her Mother
She dances and sings songs that stem from her imagination
her eyes reflect innocence, beyond her years
the world is her playground, people are her playmates
she smiles and laughs, aware of the attention she receives
so ignorant, safe and secure...
sheltered and protected by the wise, the wary, the suspicious
she brushes her long brown hair,
she licks her lips..unaware
of womanhood lurking around the corner
brown eyes flutter with long lashes, she decides what to do..
twirling round and round, her long hair
waves a fan out beside her..
giggling, she falls to the floor
rolling with laughter
oblivious to all, except her own world
happy, content, carefree, unmarked by the world, no blemish
a little five-year old girl, cannot be protected forever
a carbon copy of another five year old girl..
whose innocence was shattered.......
My daughter/her mother...
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