My first hickey was given to me the night I almost lost my virginity for the first time.

It was given to me by my first boyfriend, so I think he would have liked to know.

It would have been reassuring that his only living daughter isn't a dyke.


I was nine years old the first time I ever hurt myself on purpose.

I didn't start scaring until I was fifteen and a half,

and my father never saw my scars until I was sixteen.

I hope he knew that it wasn't his fault.


I stopped biting my nails, just like he wanted.

I started trying again in school, like he would have wanted.

I stopped failing math, like he would have wanted.

I wore a dress to his funeral, like he would have wanted.


I never wrote the short story about him falling in love with a porn star like he wanted me to.

I still think about writing it sometimes.


I had a bought of writers block for so fucking long that I thought that I'd never write again.

I wrote 2 poems in the week after he died and 4 in the two days after my mom told me that


he killed himself.


I'm not actually gay.

It's kind of totally complicated.


I hated his fucking girlfriend who I knew was using him the whole time.

I hated the way that his depression turned him into a man I'll never get to know.

I hated the fact that he put more time into a house who could never love him,

a woman who could never love him,

dozens of scrap books that cannot replace memories,

and it took me two weeks after mom and I went to the funeral parlor to get a box for his ashes to realize that


he actually did love me.


I tried killing myself. Three times.

I became suicidal at eleven after the man who I wanted to be my father died of hyperthermia,

yet I spent my time comforting my family instead of grieving.


I know how it feels.

I know how it feels to want to end everything, and

I know how it feels to loose hope in everything that you have left,

especially when you cannot see it.


I swore to never end up like him.

It took my father ripping himself out of my life with two shotgun shells to the chest for me to actually mean it.