“Daddy’s little girl.” They said.
I WAS daddy’s little girl.
Not out of love, but out of fear.
Dads are supposed to protect and love their daughters…
Not hurt them.
I didn’t know.
I was eight.

My life was full of Barbie’s and pink things.
My worries were not having enough pencils to share.
I was happy.
I was safe.
I was eight.

Who would have thought, my dad, who is supposed to be my protector, who was supposed to prevent any harm that came my way, would be the one to do just that.
“I love you. You’re my baby.” He would say after everything was done.
To this day, I don’t understand.
Who does this to a kid?
Let alone their daughter?
Your own flesh and blood…

I was daddy’s little girl.
I made sure he knew I loved him
If I didn't, I would be in trouble.
“Tell anyone and I’ll kill myself.” He would say.
I was young.
I was eight.

I couldn't have my father’s death on my shoulders.
Years have gone by and people know now.
And my father is still alive.
Because of him, I’m disgusted with myself.
I am ashamed.
I make excuses so I won’t be with the man I love.
He can never find out.
He can never know I was daddy’s little girl.

It’s a big part of who I am.
I use to be daddy’s little girl.
Before that, I was the little girl who lived in a happy world.
My life was full of Barbie’s and pink things.
My worries were if I had enough pencils to share.
Then I became daddy’s little girl.

My image of a happy world was replaced with reality.
My worries of not having enough pencils to share became, “what would he do next?”
I was Natalie, the little girl who always had a smile on her face.
But now and forever, I will always remember the time I was daddy’s little girl.