Letters I'll write over and over again but are never quite perfect, letters I know I'll never send.
I'm not your little girl. I haven't been for years now, okay?
So keep that in mind as you read this.
First off, I'm bisexual. No, not experimenting. Actual, I-like-girls-and-guys bisexual. Got a problem with that? Of course you do.
Second, I was raised by my siblings and Jan. You were never around, you never listened. You still don't. That's why this is a letter, not a phone call. You'd bulldoze me, like every time.
Third, I'm a writer. Well, more specifically, a poet. You knew I was gifted in English, and because of that, you always thought I was going to be an author, or a lawyer. Something you could be proud of. Guess what? I don't care. It doesn't matter to me nearly as much anymore.
Fourth, I'm not perfect. It's taken me years to realize that. I hope you can learn to accept it.
- Let's play a guessing game, shall we? Which of your daughters wrote this?