"Why don't you come home more often?"
"Why don't you bring that nice boy of yours over anymore?"
"Why don't we get to meet this friend that you talk about so much?"

You ask
So many
Questions.

And I just shut down
And you just get mad
Because I have nothing to say
That will please you.

Why don't I come home more often?
Because this place no longer feels like home.
Home is where you are accepted
Not judged.
Home is where you are safe
Not targeted.
Home is where you feel loved
And I don't feel loved here
Anymore.

Why do I no longer bring my boyfriend around?
Because he can smell plastic people
From a mile away
And he turned into a greyhound
The moment he caught wind of your *******.
He isn't as courteous as I am
And I envy him greatly for that.
He won't paint his skin to match your plastic shine
Just to be called one of your own.
I wish I could do the same.

Why don't you get to meet my friend?
Because I'm in love with her.
And my bisexuality is the only thing I have left
That you cannot
Judge
Or
Taint
Or
****.
You can be as homophobic as you want about my friend
Because he likes boys
And you can change the channel
When you see two girls kiss
But you can't see what's right in front of your face.
You created the very thing
You despise.
So I won't bring her over
Because my kiss is still on her lips
And my boyfriend holds my hand
Through it all
Because he knows
That I need this.

You made three perfect children.
All married.
One grandchild
One on the way.
Two girls and one boy
Living out your dreams.
A scientist and a nurse and an aspiring policeman.

But don't you forget
That you also made me.
Your little
Outgoing
Antisocial
Loving
Bitter
Bisexual
Baby.
The youngest of four.
The "oops" of the litter.
You made me.
But that doesn't mean you
Own me.
And that doesn't mean you
Define me.
And that doesn't mean you
Need to accept me.
Because I don't need your acceptance.
I don't need you at all.

So
"I won't be back home for awhile."
"Alright. We love you."
"If only."