abigail

ode to Abigail, 

“my father’s joy”

your enduring faith 

makes you frail.

made be manhandled

as nothing more than a toy.

did you feel special?

when he birthed you 

to be his jester?

wrapping your pinkies 

in suffocating puppet strings-

your beauty as a dancing distraction 

from all painful things.

and yet you still smile 

praying for it’s contagious nature 

to make your worth while. 

though no joy could replace 

the empty pit  

resting behind your pale face.

that craves to be cradled 

and to cry selfish tears 

detached from your father’s fears.