when does your family stop being
your family, when you decided they
don't need to know your whereabouts
or who you're kissin',
when mama interferred
for the last time and you
drove the lonely 12 minutes
from his house to yours wishing
you made more sense, wishing
you didn't hurt so much over
every **** thing, so you're
tellin' god no more ultimatums
no more dark drives where you're
cursin and profanin his name

but when do you draw the line
when their home ain't your own
and your house big as empty feels
always warm but filled with you
and you're always far too much
too much thought, too much
water, not enough wood
he says you immediately told
your mom and i did, which got
me thinkin' about whether families
are comprised of just one, and if
I could be my own, if you need
two, if a dog counts
if there are rules
or just a hand on my back
if God's a good lead then
i'm pushing right back