Father

There once was a smiling girl who held her head high. 

Her yellow-blonde curls dancing in the wind. 

She'd look up at her mom and ask, "why is his name different?" 

Her brother so young held this name, but she did not. 

The mother would sigh and tell her quietly, "That is a story for another day." 

Her grin would fade and she'd nod her head upset that she couldn't understand. 

Then she grew up, and her smile never faded. 

Her parents asked her to sit down one hot August evening. 

Noticibly tense her mother opened her mouth and proclaimed, "This is not your father." 

Her body shifted and she took a shallow breath.

She simply looked at the man she calls her dad and said, "We aren't bound by blood, but we are woven together with love."

Her DNA, only half-known, ran deep, but love ran deeper. 

The man she'd come to love that didn't share his last name was the man she called her father. 

Her biological father was somewhere in the world, breathing, denying her existence. 

She would look amongest the swarms of people only to think, "Who are you?" 

Her brain would then shake the thought away. 

With her yellow-blonde curls dancing in the wind, 

Her only thought was of the man who called her his princess. 

The father who called her a daughter. 

Her Dad. 

Her Protecter. 

Her Ally. 

Her Father.