Is it so damn hard to just want to be loved, By the man who helped make me, by the blood in my blood? I ask the mirror if it’s my face, my skin, my shape, If I was born already missing, already a mistake. A father should feel it when his daughter’s not okay, Should hear the quiet breaking in the words she doesn’t say. Should notice the danger hiding behind her eyes, But mine looks straight through me like I’m learning how to die. What makes me so unlovable, tell me what’s wrong with me? Is love a language he just never learned to speak? I shouldn’t have to beg for something meant to be, I shouldn’t have to plead to be a family. I learned how to starve while standing at his door, Learned how to need less, learned how to feel ignored. It shouldn’t be this heavy, shouldn’t feel this wrong— To ask for love and hear nothing answer back at all. So I hold the child in me, bruised but still alive, Promising her one day she won’t have to ask why.