I am my father’s daughter
To the girl whose daddy was her Superman without a cape
The girl who spoke with reckless abandon,
So strong and steadfast in her truth
Her mind, a reservoir
Her throat a cracked damn
Her lips chapped concrete
Spilling, overflowing, words dripping
Rushing, bursting at the seams
Getting swept up in the current
You know that feeling unloved is a thirst you feel in your bones
So you’ll let the water flow freely for others so they’ll never know the aching of going without
My dad taught me how to swim by tossing me in a motel swimming pool with no warning or explanation
My dad taught me about anger the same way; no warnings, no hesitation
My father, my family, passed down second-hand rage with the expectation of learning how to carry it the hard way
To the ghost of a little girl’s childhood past,
You’ll learn that your anger is self-love set on fire, and standing up for yourself requires burning people who try to get in your way
That the heat is just as cleansing as the water
That drowning in a saltwater sadness won’t prove your worth to the wrong people
And the flames will make you stronger if you let them
Being broken and down and built anew
There are so many versions of yourself you’ll get to fall in love with, over and over and over again
I loved you as a rebellious child
I loved you as an arrogant teen
I loved you as the uncertain woman in her 20s
I loved you as the mother with little to no support
I loved you as the addict without a place to call home
I loved you as the grief destroyed you
I loved you as I watched you rebuild again
I love the parts of you that you hate the most, and the best parts of you that you don’t even see
I’ve loved you in a million passing moments, and I’ll love you as a million more pass by again
The part that I love the most is finding the love that I’ve been searching for within myself
And knowing that I’ll always, always, always be enough
To keep myself afloat
To keep myself from drowning
To keep myself from bursting into flames