I learned that family is not decided by blood.

My sister shared my blood, and she left our father on a floor to die for the sake of a notebook.

Lucy shared none of it, and she pulled bottles out of the rain to keep him alive.

Blood told me nothing true.

Only the staying did.

Every time it rains in Chicago now, I think of that crumpled bill going into the mud.

Not to punish myself with it — self-punishment is just pride wearing a different coat, and I am done feeding my pride in all its costumes.