To the Child I Couldn’t Save

Little girl, I see you, still so small, so scared, so lost, in corners where the world stood still and trust was paid at cost. For ten long years, the dark came in, not shadows, but a thief. He was supposed to be your protector—that’s what fathers are to be. But instead this man became what all girls need protection from, you see, The monster isn’t under the bed, it’s hidden in the family tree. I know you prayed to skies that never spoke, to gods who never heard, your tiny voice in silence broke, your pain went unearned. You thought you were the tarnished one, unworthy, stained, unclaimed, believed the lie that you were done your worth forever maimed. No one would listen, no one would see, the truth you hid inside, so you became what they wanted to be: a shadow, forced to hide. Now grown, I carry all your pain, echoes in every breath, the nightmares come, the memories remain, a life still stalked by death. You’re not really me, but someone's child I tried to save, a broken, helpless, aching heart, that I was never brave. But therapy’s light begins to seep through cracks in walls I built, I pray one day the wounds will heal, the nightmares I will no longer feel. Little girl, I wish I knew how to reach back through the years, to wrap you up and hold you true and wipe away your tears. But though I failed to rescue you, I’ll walk with you each day, until the sky is bright and new and love can lead the way.