Untitled

You raise this generation to be different

And here I am and I'm different

But I'm the wrong kind of different.

I am simultaneously too much and not enough

I am both a disgrace and a designated place

on your chess board among the other pieces

until you deem me useless

And then I am cast away.

You're happily content with the rest.

But I am not like them;

I am condemned

Because you don't like that I love them,

That "disgusting race of wasted space"

by which you and I call ourselves!

Oh, but the connotation changes to sharpen the edge of your words

"Girls!"

Mom

"Why girls?!"

Please quiet your voice.

Look, I left the door open, I can go back in.

I'll say what you want me to.

I'll date who you want me to.

I'll be who you want me to.

But you stay planted in front of the closet

with the key in your palm.

Why won't you just let me hide?

Please.

Let me back in, mom.

(14.6.16)