I remember the first time you told me that you stopped drinking.
My heart took flight and the idea of having a sober father became the root of my happiness.
You got drunk that night.

I remember the first time you let me down.
I stood alone among my peers because you had better things to do.
You got drunk that night.

I remember the first time I slit my porcelain skin open for you.
As blood trickled from my veins I begged you to come and rescue me from the demons in my mind.
You got drunk that night.

I remember the first time I tried to put an end to all the madness that engulfed my life.
I grabbed your gun from the safe and shot a bullet through my head.
I will never know if you got drunk that night.
You probably did.

So, we’ve had a few dogs, all the same. Golden retrievers with bigger hearts than brains, that want only the affections of those who love them. And those who don’t. My parents love to say how our first golden, Euka, once tried to get in the car with a random woman, solely because she had a laundry basket full of towels, his favorite chew toy.

In my junior year of college, my parents adopted our third dog, yet another golden, with a beautiful, soft white coat, and no brains to match.

My father, mother and brother all sent me pictures of this magical creature, sitting on house furniture and looking like the dog we have always wanted. Little did I know, he was poorly behaved, and peed like a fountain when excited. That never seemed to phase my dad, however, whose always thought I don’t use the dog to his full potential.

“That dog is a chick magnet.”
“I know dad, I know.”
“Really, just walk the dog, and you’ll meet so many women. So many cute, young women. Look at his face, he’s irresistible.”
“Okay, I know, I get it. He’s cute.”
“Yes he is, and he’s yours, so use him to your advantage.”
“I’ll meet a nice girl, she’ll pet him, and he’ll *** on her.”
“If she stays she’s worth it.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to meet any cute young women right now?”
“Of course you do. You’re 21. You’re at your prime, and I know you can do it on your own, but the dog, he’ll just reel them in. Trust me.”
“You just want me to take the dog for a walk? Or do you want me to get married?”
“The first one first. Then we can think about the second.”

flipping through old photographs that i'm too young to remember being taken, i suddenly realize
it isn't just sad that he isn't alive anymore
it's devastating
i read my uncle's speech from the funeral
he had planned on taking us hiking in montana
he had planned on sticking around, and helping us be the best he could
without him, i am lesser
i am the daughter of a single mother who doesn't hold the same values as he did
i am the traumatized girl in your philosophy class
i am the girl who is still sobbing into her pillow six years after
i don't talk to people about it
when i'm already upset about something, my mind will wander to him, and it gives me an excuse to cry
but on nights like tonight, i don't need an excuse to cry
flipping through the photo album
he isn't coming back
he isn't coming back
he isn't coming back

Daddy often tells me to keep my back straight for good posture, so I do. I always look up at the bright, blue sky and smile because life is beautiful.

Daddy yells at me a lot. Whenever I'm near him, I tense up my body and walk away. The sky is somewhat cloudy but I still look up at it every day. I smile because life is beautiful.

Dad won't stop yelling at me, so I try not to leave my room. My shoulders sag when I walk and I sometimes glance up at the cloudy sky. I try to smile because life was beautiful.

Dad hurt me the other day. I don't ever leave my room, not even for meals. My bent over back is always turned away from him. I haven't seen the sky in over a week. I can't smile even though life was beautiful.

My father has pushed me too far. I left the house for the first time in weeks. My back is in pain from hiding from him for so long. The sky is gloomy and filled with black clouds. I lean over the edge of the bridge and cry because life used to be beautiful but I can't remember it, anymore.

I grew up taking hits from my big brother,
I grew up on "boys' weekend" camping trips,
I grew up with my father calling me a princess but calling my brothers rock stars,
I grew up watching Boy Scout meetings from the back of the room,
I grew up on LEGOs and Hot Wheels and
I still remember the year my brothers got Nerf guns for Christmas
and I got a bracelet,
I remember being shot with foam bullets and having no way to fight back,
but at least I looked pretty.
I remember seeing my dad leave for work every morning
and wondering why my mom never did,
I remember wanting to be an astronaut, but my brother told me
moms have to stay home.
The phrase stop being a girl is branded into my mind
and I still curse myself every day
for the organs I was born with.
I remember the year my brothers went as zombies for Halloween
and I had to go as a princess,
I remember bringing a fake butcher's knife
because a princess is not scary.
I grew up on manhood meaning strength
and manhood meaning confidence
and manhood meaning respect
and I still wear dresses
and my dad still calls me a princess
but I'll be ****** if you tell me I'm not a man.

Blurred,
like the lines covering your eyes
Blind,
like the rage growing within me.

Our souls have never matched,
maybe we're just too much alike.

Or maybe, just maybe,
you don't want them to.