I wonder when you decided that I wasn’t good enough?
 
Was it when you found out she was pregnant, or when you first heard me cry, or when you discovered that I was a girl?
 
Was it when I weeped every night because I missed you, or when I slept with the stuffed animal you gave me, or when I would read my special book before bed because “when daddy travels” he has to come back home; right?
 
Was it when I needed you to make me food or pick me up from school when you had a meeting to attend that you claimed you couldn’t miss?
 
Was it when I started to like her more and you less, or when I got mad when you didn’t remember my favorite book, and then mad again when you did because you didn’t deserve to know that?
 
Was it when you crawled back into my life after chipping at walls set up just for you only to leave again because you just had to keep busy and because you just had to choose them again?