When I was a little girl
with golden hair down to my waist,
I would lie in bed
and plug my ears,
but I could still hear my parents screams.

When I was a little older
and the doctors said I was sick,
my golden hair started to fall out.
My parents screamed even more.

My dad yelled at me about medical bills.
My mom slapped me once,
and told me to be thankful that
she had kept me.
She told me I was an accident.

After that I went up to bed and cried.
I was an accident.
I shouldn't be here.
I begged God to take me away to heaven.
No one wanted me.

A year later I was still mad at God for not listening.
But then the cancer went away.
And that's when I realized:
I am not an accident,
even if my parents didn't plan me.
God could have let the cancer kill me.
But He didn't.
So I must be here for a reason.
I must have a job to do.
I am not an accident.
And neither are you.