Dear Aristocrat_Dead Man_

Dear Aristocrat

It has been
a very long time.

Very surprising.
As I have had much to say
but no time to say it.

I haven't written
to you
like this
because I learned you wouldn't listen.

But now I need to
even if you cannot see these words.

Poor poor Aristocrat.
I've learned I'm even less like you.
With my dysmorphia
and identity issues.

Poor poor Aristocrat.
What will the neighbors think.
When your daughter-
with her feminine face-
cuts her hair short,
and hides her chest?

If you could change one thing
you ask.
And I answer-
every time-
The same way.

You are so concerned with
how society sees me
that you haven't realized
you can't see me either.

And yet
with all my problems
and strife
and torture.

You are miserable.
I cry myself to sleep at night
and I have it so well.
How do you even wake up in the morning?

I know you don't sleep at night.
My dear, stupid Aristocrat.

Niether of us do.
I'm scared you'll find out about the
choices I've made.

No, nothing like that.
I'm still scared of drugs
of drinking
of sex.

But there are other things to life than that.

I'm scared that you will learn
what I will do for my friends.
And I know you won't approve.

Oh, but my friends are Rats.
Of course there is no approval.

But they're my friends.
They would go
to the end of the earth
to save me.

You don't have anyone like that.

I'm so sorry Aristocrat.

You're a dead man.
You've died and left your body.
A soulless, rage-filled creature.

I jump when you raise your voice.
Because you scare me.
Because I'm so sure you'll berate me
again.

I don't know where this fear came from.
It didn't used to be here.

I didn't used to want to run
and hide
and stay away.

I didn't used to want to be
by myself.

Whenever did you die?
Wherever did you go?

The man who raised me
the one who
went to every concert
and tournament
and game.

I miss my daddy
Who are you?

Forever Yours,
the Slum Rat