you've watched me grow but now your gaze has changed
and fills my fragile form with newfound dread.
Oh father, you have haloed me in heaven
and yet you cannot see the worth of me.
Oh father, you have lustered me in moon
yet won't reflect upon your monstrous will.
Oh father, you have splendored me in sun
that I would set, burning my form away.
You cannot see my heart within my form
and would possess me, hoard me to yourself.
Oh father, all you see is what you want
and not what I've become, nor what we had.
Oh father, I would beg you let me go
for I fear what you may do to your soul
which is already shadowed and so I
shall hide my light, shall flee, dressed in the drab
of donkey skin, and yet still not escape
for all the world is filled with foolish men
who wish to capture women's fragile light
all heedless of the person there within.
I cannot help but glow and grow and change
my weakness is no offering to claim
and so I claim myself to be my own,
although the path alone be high and hard.
Oh father, you've adorned me but forgot
I am a person and I need a name
so as I claim myself I choose my own
and I choose Courage, and choose to be gone.
For I thank you who helped to give me life
but Courage now will glow and grow alone.
Born in Yorkshire, Cara L. McKee now lives in Largs on the West Coast of Scotland with her young family and two kittens. She has recently had poems published in Enchanted Conversation, She Might Be, Peacock Journal, and other places, she'll have another in the next edition of Interpreter's House. She blogs at caralmckee.blogspot.co.uk.
Cara loves reading (currently Runaway by Alice Munro), and is working on a modern retelling of the Tam Linn fairy tale. She wishes she was better at drawing.