I'm Not Her!

 I'm not her.. I'm not the 8 year old listening to them downstairs laughing over pancakes, feeling left out and alone.

I'm not her..  Watching him lavish love and attention on the youngest daughter while directing irritation and criticism my way. The constant question at the dinner table, " why are you primping?"  I was a clueless kid with no idea what he meant and how I was primping but his tone told me it was something I needed to stop.

I'm not her.. The middle girl, fourth of eight  Not the oldest, the youngest, the show off, the pretty one, or the bold bad boy. I was lost in the crowd of stand outs.

Laughing with everyone but only pretending to feel it.  All four eyes and pudgy with a cry they laughingly told me sounded like a cow mooing .

I'm not her..
I'm not that 8 year old little girl.. I'm 53.  
But she has always been beside me.. trying to make the world realize that she's not ugly and unexceptional.
Looking for acceptance and approval like the hope of rain.

I'm not her.. I'm his. He sees me, knows me, loves me. 
The little girl is gone, in her place is the woman who has a Father.
I'm in his family.. He has filled up my empty spaces and fulfilled my longing.

I'm not her... I'm his.