Fifteen's neither child nor adult,
In between charade and innocence,
Fending off the forces that would shape
Too soon an unremarkable result.
Even if one were oneself to ape
Essences to which the heart assents,
No draft could be approved without revolt.

What do you do when your mother is crazy,
Hysterical, selfish, abusive, and cruel?
What do you do when really you hate her,
And it's all you can do to be distantly cool?
What do you do when you find her repulsive,
And the best of your memories are tinted with pain?
And now she is old, and needs to be near you,
And you cannot stand to be near her again?

How do you tell her the truth when the truth
Keeps accruing like some insurmountable debt?
When the horror that haunts you goes back to a moment
You cannot remember and cannot forget?

What do you do with your love when your love
Has been buried so long that you can't find its grave?
When love for a parent lies outside a window
Through which you imagine how people behave?

What do you do when whatever you do
Must cost more than the option you failed to choose?
For whether you turn to embrace or forsake her,
You're left with a burden you cannot refuse.

I want to tell you something you should know,
Something that you might not want to hear.
It is, however, true of me, and so
If you would know me, I must make it clear.
I am a woman who loves other women.
I could not, nor would want to be aught else.
I am your daughter and a lesbian.
Please make a place for that within yourself.
Please love me as I am, as I love you
No differently from when I was a child.
I am the daughter that you always knew
Save for one sweet way that fate has smiled.
Whatever you decide, I'll love you still,
For love heeds not the weather, but the will.

lies and secrets all around
opportunity to catch not to be found
velvet voice and kisses
e**legance over you that glistens.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f