You moved away to New York.
Everything is better there they say.
I wonder if you are truly happy.
I walk outside and see a brown package on my porch.
“Love you Gabby!” written in your new girlfriend’s handwriting.
Who the fuck are you?
I pick it up and walk back inside.
There is postage from New York amongst the clear duct tape and dents from travel.
I think about the miles between us but it’s something you probably don’t consider often.
I open it up.
It’s full of girly presents I know you didn’t pick out yourself.
I see a card.
“You are such a good daughter and I love and miss you SOOOO much! Merry Christmas, honey” -Dad
You don’t miss me.
Why are you across the country if you miss me.
Nobody forced you to go, you just sort of left on your own so you could move in with some girl I never even heard of before and her daughter.
As I sit and hold your cardboard love, I imagine you having Christmas with your new family around the tree.
I wonder why me and Mom weren’t the ones you chose.
Why are you so fucking selfish, Dad?
Do you even care what is going on in my life?
Do you even know if I am alive or if I am dead?
I try not to think about it..
It’s hard to accept that the closest thing I get from you is a cardboard box during the holidays.
I don’t understand how you live your perfect fairy tale life the way you do.
You honestly make me sick.
I don’t know what else to say.