Fragile Blossoms

Oh, how she was so small when the pain began,
Purple bruises painted on her delicate skin.
Unknowing, she stood, as he shattered her soul,
Leaving her broken, struggling to be whole.

If she were a flower, blossoming with grace,
He became the hand that tore petals from her space.
Each bloom, a symbol of her fragile resilience,
But he, relentless, impeded her deliverance.

He hindered her healing, with callous intent,
Ripping out stitches, picking at scabs that were meant
To mend her wounds, to grant her some reprieve,
Yet he revelled in causing her to grieve.

He stood as her obstacle in this journey of life,
Unseen, unnoticed, adding to her strife.
Her tear-filled eyes, brushed away with a lie,
Carrying this burden, beneath a stoic sky.

And as she grew, weathering the storms of her past,
Her strength, her resilience, began to amass.
But, oh, dear father, you never made it easy,
For the wounds you inflicted still haunt her, ceaselessly.

Yet, she has grown, despite the trials endured,
Her spirit, undeterred, her heart reassured.
No longer a child, but a survivor, you see,
For she rose above your darkness and emerged free.

So, dear Dad, though the journey was steep,
She's found her footing, no longer incomplete.
With scars as reminders of what she overcame,
She stands tall, a testament to her own name.

And though the wounds run deep, her spirit's now light,
For she's grown, she's flourished, against all odds, right.
Through the pain, she emerged, like a phoenix in flight,
And she's built a life, no longer trapped in your night.

So, hear her voice, a song of resilience and grace,
For she found her strength in this formidable space.
And though you cast shadows upon her young soul,
She's become a beacon, blazing, taking control.

She's grown up so much, for her father never made it easy,
Yet there she stands, a survivor, strong and steady.
No longer defined by the bruises he left behind,
She rises above, reclaiming her peace of mind.