When my daughter walks up to me,
holding nothing but a broken heart
and the ache that goes with it,
I won’t ask any questions.

I’ll grab the nearest first aid kit
and tell her about the time I broke my nose,
hoping that the thought of my injury
will distract her from her own.

She’ll never know when she’s in trouble
because I will always be there
to save her before she sees it
hurling towards her like whirlwind of hurt.

And “baby” I will tell her,
“Your voice may seem small but trust me
I could shout to the rooftops and the world would hear me.
so don’t let the monsters under your bed tell you otherwise.”

I’ll tell her remember to always follow your gut,
Not the boy who told you, you were pretty.
Smile the widest always but don’t you dare dull it
for someone who can’t handle the brightness.

Your hands may look small and
Your feet might not touch the ground,
But that doesn’t mean you can’t jump.

I won't ask questions when she’s wrong,
or when she’s made the worlds biggest mistake.
I will show her the ropes of unconditional love
So she’ll never not know how it feels.

I will save her before she drowns.
and let her know my door is always open,
even when it isn’t there is a doorbell for a reason.

So when she’s older and people
start to ask her the questions I never did,
and she gives them the wrong answer.

They will laugh and call her rude, annoying
maybe even a couple names.
She’ll reply with her small and simple smile
and say “You should really meet my mother”.