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there's a woman in my father's house. once, she was beloved. a little girl with white blonde hair, a springy gait and not a care in the world. the sky could turn red, and still she would beam, skipping through the tall grass, playing make believe all by herself. she wore pink plaid and patent leather shoes, tied her hair up in bows and made every waking moment her one-woman show.
but like the trees, like the flowers in her grandmother's garden, she grew. she grew, and grew, into a big girl. a big smart girl, just as she always wanted. a big smart girl, endlessly funny, endlessly sharp, with a wit that struck you like a papercut, lingering soreness in your frontal lobe for weeks to come.
when she was that springy little girl, that little violet in the clover patch, she was never found without my father. he was her director, her right hand man. she posed for silly pictures at the zoo, ones she believed would be treasured forever. to my father, she was brighter than bright, funnier than funny, sharper than sharp. every bruise was met with care, every scrape with a band-aid, she didn't even have to ask. my father was there. at every step, with his golden child.
now, he's cold. the gold has lost its shine, the bruises and scrapes left untended. still, the woman in my father's house is witty, ever brazen in her intellect. she strives and strives to be that golden child, that ideal daughter, and yet she falls short. always, always just steps, breaths away from that perfection she yearns for. she grew older, and now the once kind mouth that spoken gentle words is biting, dripping vitriol. the silly pictures are long gone, toothy grins turned into tight lipped smiles that never, never reach her eyes.
once, she was my father's daughter. i was my father's daughter. but then i grew up. i'll never be my father's daughter again. now, i'm the woman in my father's house.
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~mc´lovin.~
that was so cool written!!
thanks so much ♡
by s.d.; ; Report