Aren't we born into this world with a purpose, a plan?
Unveiling each day's purpose throughout our lifespan.
Most areas of my life I cannot complain
But one in particular has filled me with pain.
Would I still have been born if my mom could foresee
inadequate feelings that he's placed upon me?
From childhood 'til now, internal wounds build
But very few know and very few will.
I smile and go on to brighten someone else's day.
Hold sadness within; it's easier that way.
Yes I have cried, but what good does that do?
I've wished things were different; Wishes rarely come true.
The ideal father would protect, love and care,
show tenderhearted compassion and always be there
What did I get? None of the above
So, what's wrong with me? Am I that hard to love?
Most people say, it's his loss, not yours.
Then why am I always behind his slammed doors?
Time after time I move on from the past,
Then let him back in hoping something might last.
Who am I fooling? Change will not take place
That's when I feel my life's just wasted space
I'm learning to live past his hatred and strife
This continuous hurting is no way of life.
So, while I am living I must do what I can
to believe, even through this, I have a purpose, a plan.

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