Her Secrets Are Safe Here

My daughter kept a secret.

She let it boil up inside.

She tried to ignore it.

She tried to hide.

For twenty-four hours,

she carried the weight,

turning it over

and fearing her fate.

Then bedtime came,

and the secret fell free,

down her little cheeks

as she whispered to me.

She had ripped her teacher’s book.

It was an accident, she said.

But all day long,

it had lived in her head.

So I pulled her in close

and told her what was true:

“You did the right thing

by telling me, too.”

Her secrets are safe here.

Her worries can fade.

When they become too heavy,

I can help carry the weight away.

We’ll tell her teacher.

We’ll mend the tear.

The book can be fixed.

And so can her fear.

My sweet, innocent girl,

I pray you always care.

That your heart stays this tender.

That your love stays this rare.

And when life feels heavy,

when worries begin to unfurl,

I pray you always bring them to me.

My sweet little girl.