Dear Father,

Dear Brother,

I cannot survive on the ice cream swirl swirling against white kitchen/bathroom. You

I survive on the pure testosterone in the air when I pin you down and you

Teach me to fry and grill the food you ate as a child. I am not

Tell your friends that they should not tell me to leave because I am a girl. I am not.

Eating meat now, but I think of you as I grab the Frank’s Red Hot you raised me on.

I share my secrets with too loud words and you silently learn what you already knew.

I cannot tell you

What it does to me to hear

Your dismissal of who I am, how do I know so young?

Your casual, toxic white entitlement.

I need a father.

A model.

Be mine.

Thanks,

Love,

I love

You