i know nothing about love
the kind where staying together forever
earns us all gold metals and
parental approval
i know nothing of parental approval
when i was twelve
i wrote in my livejournal
things that got me in major trouble
things that the backdoor neighbor
somehow read and repeated to my mother
as they stumbled into each other
walking their dogs
through the suburbs
i wrote things that i'm afraid to muster from my memory
and spill out in front of me for you--
normal things that make up my normal gory roots
perhaps if i tell you, you'll want to fix me
or judge me, or worse love me
love me so loud that somehow
no story would be too gory
or too boring
to stick around for
til the end--
even the beautiful ones
even the triumphant ones
even the everlasting love that is actually
alive and well in the temple of my heart
(my heart, that's more protected and unscarred
than i ever let myself admit)
i am not my controlling father
i am not my silent mother
i am not the suitcase carrying my favorite journal
on the side of the highway
thumb out praying to god that some stranger
could take better care of me
than the very people who birthed me
i am not my disillusioned victimhood
i am not a divorce statistic
a broke kid writing poems
a dandelion seed to far from mud
to root and grow
into something normal
that turns into a dream
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