dad, can u hold me like u did when i was little? i need that right now.

i don’t have a key chain name, you knew that when you adopted me; sometimes, i wonder if it’s the first thing you noticed about me. i don’t much care though, because you love me anyway. my strongest memory of you telling me so is when i asked you why i was brown when our whole family was so pale, ‘caucasian’ i think you told me (that little detail is blurry, sorry). you explained to me i’m beautiful and every in the family wants my tan skin and my blood dad left me but that doesn’t matter because you loved me. you loved me and that’s all that really, ever, truly matters. and you reminded me this a thousand times in a single minute while holding me, hugging me, your rough calloused hands surprisingly soft against my coloured skin.

dad, can you hold me like you did back then, when you told me you loved me and my looks had nothing to do with it? ’cause, i need that right now. life’s so confusing and painful, i just feel like- no, i need to start- crying, right now. my hearts in a million pieces, and, i know it’ll scratch up your hands, but can you please pick them up and hold them together?

it’s partly because of this boy who broke my heart. daddy, i loved him, and he left me. and loving him was like cutting onions, i was always crying (i knew you’d like that metaphor); though, i thought it was temporary. he’s my everything, or i thought he was; since he’s gone, i don’t much anymore. and i don’t want to think of a future without him in it, even though he’s broken my heart, because honestly? he helped me discover it; simply, he was my first love, i believe it. but what’s worse, is whenever i’m not hurting over him, i’m hurting over her.

daddy, i met a girl- and she’s bloody brilliant. she knows i’m a writer, and the best part is, she is too. but not everyone knows the true existence of her writing, most have only ever really touched the surface. whenever i read her work, it’s like finding parts of your soul in word form, strung together in a poem she presents to you in a way that makes you think you’ve never known yourself. and even then, she’s more than the words handcrafted by her heart. she’s outrageously smart, i can’t keep up (though i pretend and attempt to, because i’m the older one). talking to her is like a breath of fresh air and when i need her most, she’s the human version of home. at one point, i almost told her i loved her. i held back because i think she would believe it meant something else entirely, and say it back in a different form. but the main reason i held back was because i’m not even sure what it means. i’ve never felt like this with a girl before - not even a single one of my boyfriends (including him). i know i love her, but the proper words to tell her are nonexistent because they’re foreign to my unknowing mind. but i do know this, she makes me question everything. and yes, i know grandma raised you by the bible and jesus is the colour you bleed, but please, if loving her means i’m sapphic, will you still love me? ’cause if there’s anyone on this damned planet i need most, it’s you, dad. i could live an eternity in misery without her, but without you, i wouldn’t be able to live at all.

so please, daddy, please- hold me, hug me, be there for me. because out of everybody, i need you more than anything. and right now, i’m crying tears and questioning everything and believe that sylvia path’s life will consume me: dark poetry, mental institutions, people slapping me with the words crazy, tragic endings. and no, i’m not scared of dying; it’s the living that scares me. what if i haven’t lived my life enough? i won’t ever stop fighting to breath, but i just want to know that it’s worth it and i won’t regret anything.

dad, i love you; please, take me back to when i was little and you holding me would solve everything.