Sometimes I realize how much my knowledge is steeped in the thoughts of white men who have long fallen to dust.

The words I was taught to value were always he/him/his.

I loved Holden and Harry and Sherlock and Gatsby, Huck Finn and Winston.

The stories poured down my throat were sticky with the absence of belonging, theirs theirs theirs, they sang, never, not once, mine mine mine. 

I swallowed their pain and their great ponderous ideas, the reincarnation of the girl from the 3rd grade who never liked them back, their war sweat and conquering blood and their sweet and salty love and I drank so deep of their stories,

I never learned anything about mine.

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