His Little Girl

I intended to post this in conjunction with this morning’s post, since they are a pair of sorts, but was distracted by other more immediate things.  I can’t believe it’s been six years since I wrote this piece.  A lifetime.

His Little Girl


A word that always meant so little

suddenly means so much.

Even to call him a word reeks of how unreal he has become.

There are no illusions

No baseball games

No high school dances

Or father daughter camping trips

No man to give the bride away

A missing piece that never mattered

A piece that leaves me, a little girl, unsteady

A wineglass teetering on an edge

Losing its balance

Losing its base

No sweet sixteen party

No college bon vayages

Just me waiting, him walking

Never walking my way

Never letting me see his face

No daunting man to bully dates

To set curfews so I beg and plead

No lingering scent of stale cologne

Or heavy coats lay upon the living room chair

How silly it is to feel a need for this man

As though nineteen years should pass before the hollowness inside


Who needs him?

The phrase slaps at my temples

A wave shattering upon jagged rocks

I have certainly never needed him

I was different


A girl who could make it on her own

So very wrong

foolish, angry thoughts

they buried the need

yet they buried it with its heart still beating

The earth always shifts

Dirt moves

And truth is lifted

Gladly I would bury this craving

Void of strength I sit and weep

On bended knees i’m broken

It’s there that I meet him.

A savior

Having finally found my father,

who will teach me to be a daughter?

To be still

To allow myself to be loved

To believe.


2 thoughts on “His Little Girl

  1. Love it! Those are precious words! I love how God redeems our stories for his glory!

  2. I’m glad you have a heavenly father. This poem is so moving. Thank you for sharing it with us. And thank you so much for joining us for THE BLOG CARNIVAL AGAINST CHILD ABUSE. You words can touch many survivors.

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