The daddy that abused demands respect,
While brazenly he’s courting the profane.
She waits for alcohol to take effect,
Or swallows pills to numb the memory’s pain.
She daily chokes down bitter, misplaced guilt
That he’s imposed since she was just a child.
Wet pillow, stained where nightly shame is spilt,
Her very tears believe they are defiled.
But now she shuns her means for quick relief;
She’s trading pills and alcohol for truth.
And though her battle’s cruel beyond belief,
She’s vanquishing the crutches of her youth.
Her steadfast vision lifts and touches me.
Her only goal? “To God, the glory be.”
© Marie Elena Good, 2017