Dear Daddy,

Your bookshelf- lined with secrets that rise as high as the ceiling

The lower shelves have novels and books, things you like to have around…


Things that hold no real consequence to you.

The middle shelf holds a single fat folder labeled DIVORCE AGREEMENT


The folder eyes the higher shelves’ belongings wondering,



“Would you still be there if it was not for me?”

The shelves that once stood taller than I contain the small treasures you’ve tucked away


For “Safe keeping”


A tube of my Happiness that you managed to fill, sealing it all up inside



Capping it shut- out of my grasp


A jar of my Trust, all locked away, pushed to the back of a shelf-
Becoming ever more dusty


A mug labeled my Relationships, holding a few rusty old nails



Pricking and rotting away

I could not reach the shelves that towered so high. I was not so big.


Though for such a small girl you required not so small tasks



“Don’t tell anyone…” you repeated a million times over.



“It is not my fault, I am but injured prey,” you never failed to imply.
“Take care of your siblings,” because you could not bring yourself to get up.
“Tuck your little brother into bed,” because your son was afraid of you.
“Next time…” you said. I’m still waiting.

Well, Daddy. I am not so little anymore.
I can clear away the cobwebs and open the locks to the bottles of my emotions you keep all to yourself on the highest shelves.


And although you tower over a foot above me… I can now reach the higher shelves,



While you cannot seem to make it past the middle shelf.

With flabbergasted love,

Your daughter