A Letter from a Trans Teenager

dear dad,

you look at me

when i am a woman,

pretty pink dress

clung like a leech

sucking content

from my skin.

you refuse to acknowledge me

when i am anything

but your little girl,

refusing to see the boy

wearing long shorts,

hair short,

kissing girls by the river.

look at me.

look at me here, now

and do not call

me your daughter.

do not call

me broken, misunderstanding,

too young

to know my body

does not match my mind,

like a striped shirt

against plaid pants.

you do not have the right

to tell me who i must be,

because though

you are my father

you do not define me.

you can not contain me.

i am not a liquid

meant to meld into stiff structures

and molds

i am solid

and i am strong.

i will rise,

strain against you

break away from your construction

paper version of me

and i will scream my name.

my name is not

the one you gave me.

i am: parker