Healing The Father Wound

She had a father-shaped hole in her heart,
it was a ramshackle scar.

She filled it with dangerous friends
because that space was too quiet.

She appointed boyfriends to the void
because the extent was lonely.

She loaded up on remedies
because the breach bestowed injuries.

She taped it shut with anger
because the gap leaked toxins.

She married the rift to another
because the range became embraced.

She broke away from bonds
because the scope was irrepressible.

She felt the hole expanding
because there is no proxy for self-worth.

She walked steadfastly into truth
because it was the only road forward.

She nourished her worth
because it was no longer negotiable.

She learned to accept the canyon
between what was
and what would never be,
because that’s what healing afforded.

She decorated the ravine
with garlands from fondness
and wreaths of forgiveness,
because the power of love is ubiquitous.

She had a father-shaped hole in her heart
it became a chapel of clarity —
it glimmered like stained glass and diamonds
because she designed it that way.

And that felt extraordinary.