My name is Miranda Lynn Ricardo,

I love pasta, talking, laughing for no reason, and protesting.

My name is Miranda Lynn Ricardo, this name originated from Mexico, specifically from a father who let me know I expired at 7.

My name is Miranda Lynn, I grew up hating my last name, mom whispering in my ear how beautifully exotic it is but all I hear is a fathers voice I can’t seem to recognize.

My name is Miranda Lynn! Name shouted as if it’s a curse word, the youngest of 4, often the puppet. I learned that using my voice for pleading innocence only made things worse.

My name is Miranda, a name mentioned by my teachers, I mistook her worry and frustration as love, my 10 year old brain creating a world where she would just take me home, where I knew her kids never questioned their existence.

My name is whatever you want to call me, I can no longer stand giving my father a hug and feeling as if the tie between us has been severed. I need a mom who sees a daughter not a wall between her and a drink or a man. I yearn for a parent who will mold me, her hands purposeful, his permanent.

I will be anything for you

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