Hurt

My First Hurt

The First hurt I ever experienced, my dad. He was never here to began with. Like how could that hurt me? I don't remember him. Not what he looks like or how he sounds. My mom tries to remind me of him to keep him alive in me but he's gone. Anyways it was elementary my teacher announced that the PTA was going to have a daddy/daughter dance. I realized that my dad wasn't here to take me. I still wanted to go it's a dance and I loved an excuse to get dressed up. I set myself up. I watched as those girls danced with their daddies while smiling. I sat and stared knowing I'll never experience what these girls have. He will never save me from the boys that are going to break my heart, take me out on shopping trips, pull up to my school blasting music to pick me up, or walk me down the carpet to my future husband to let go and say I do. Without a doubt in my mind I'd chose to see the one memory that my mom talks about before he left, him holding me singing saying goodbye though. It hurts, and I'm hurt.