Dear Dad,

She came to you twenty years ago,

Your angel in a pink blanket.
You said nothing would ever harm her,

And you tried to make that so.
But she was clumsy, sensitive,
A quiet little bookish girl,

Her hair pulled back in bows and ribbons,
She'd trip and fall and hurt herself
And bruises and freckles tainted her skin
And her pride.

She went to school and became a ghost.
She quickly learned not to cry, 
How the bigger kids would swarm to her
Like sharks to chum.
You tried to keep her safe

And so you never told her
That boys would do the same.
Her grandmother and best friend gone,
You moved away to a new town
The day she started freshman year.
And that is where she met him.

Passing through halls
She saw beauty in him
And he saw her fragility.
They became close,
He was her first kiss.
He filled the void
And so she loved him.

Love
Was
Not
What
He
Had
In
Mind

 Some call it the straw that broke the camel's back.
 Some call it a phase.
 Some call it the product of an overinventive mind.
 Her doctor calls it Dissociative Identity Disorder.
 I call it my birth.
 I was the one who took the blows.
 The one who forced back screams and tears
 The one who bit his palm.

I kept your precious daughter alive
And dammit, I kept her safe.
When she let me cut her hair
And every time she wrapped the ace bandage
Around her chest,
You thought she was acting out of shame.
When she told you about me, 
You scoffed.
You told her it was just a silly phase.

My name is Tristan and I am your son.
I am not a phase,
I am not her.
I am my own,
And despite it all,
I love you dearly.
Would it really hurt you
To love your son?
Love, 
Your Son.