Daddy Was Wrong

It's my eleventh birthday
And I fall out of a tree
And in front of my friends this is what daddy says
Stop being such a baby
Lace up your boots
And put on your big girl pants
Get along, scoot!
Crying should be something you can't 
Don't sob at what I say
Grow a spine 
I don't care if it's your birthday
You'll shut up as long as you're mine
But the hybrid of snot and tears on my face
Only multiply with each acrimonious word 
For the only reason that I fell off of the branches webbed space
Was I was saving a baby bird
But standing there among all my friends 
I don't know why he thinks it's his place
To break me instead of to mend
And for him to decide that life is a race
Because it's not for the survival of the fittest
As I cradle the bird in my hands 
It's for the gentle rest
Of humanity's kindness brand 
Life is not meant to be about always being tough
We were never meant to be held together perfect
Life isn't a fairytale, but it also isn't rough
It lies in its own misunderstood sect 
Daddy is wrong, we don't have to be faultless
For even a bird which has wing, falling from a tree proves life is a beautiful mess. 

-anna sluder 

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