By the time I was old enough to tie my own shoes and lie with a straight face, I had already mastered the art of switching identities.

Every month, I lived on a loop: One week with my dad
One week with my mom
Back to my dad
Last week of the month with my mom again
Then start all over again.

That rhythm shaped me. It taught me how to shift gears emotionally, how to adapt on the fly—how to wear different versions of myself depending on where I was staying.

At Dad’s, things were structured. He ran his own computer business out of the house—fixing machines, writing code, answering phones, building something from nothing. He was focused. Locked in. I didn’t always feel like I fit into that world—but when I messed up, he was the first one there to fix it. Quietly. Repeatedly. And we did have bonding moments, too—like little windows in the wall. Times when we’d be driving and he’d open up about life. Or when he’d take me on a supply run and let me feel like I was part of the mission. He showed love in ways I didn’t understand back then. But looking back now, I see it more clearly.

My mom’s house had a different energy—but you already know that part. The real story here is what was happening inside of me through all this back-and-forth.

Because somewhere in that shuffle, I started becoming everyone and no one at the same time. Too mature for kids my age. Too complicated for adults. I’d walk into rooms already scanning the people in them—studying their moods, their body language, the tension in the air—before anyone even spoke. I became more of a reader than a participant. A silent observer with a growing voice I didn’t know how to use yet.

I’d crack jokes to defuse situations.
Act out characters just to escape being myself.
I’d write rhymes and poems, not to be deep or dramatic—but because the paper didn’t argue, didn’t interrupt, didn’t label me.

No one told me to start writing. It just felt like the only place I didn’t have to translate who I was.

Some kids grow up in one house. Some grow up in chaos.
I grew up between two worlds—and I didn’t feel like I fully belonged in either one.