My mom always tells me that it’s my fault we fight,
Why I’m not just happy and enjoy everyday life?
She says: There’s no reason for you to be sad,
You just **** the mood when you enter the room.

She doesn’t realize that I have every right to be down,
That I’m allowed to be me, even if she doesn't agree.
I don’t have to act different just to please her,
Why do I have to put on a fake smile, I thought lying was bad?

She doesn't know what I’m feeling, so why does she think she can judge me?
I am sad, she can’t change that,
So why won't she stop making me feel bad,
I can’t handle the stress with her at home now too.

I was raised by my grandma
with her
“Sit up straight”
homemade everything
crocheted blankets in every room
dancing in the kitchen to sinatra
hot cocoa and graham crackers
before bed
type of love.

I was raised by my father
with his
Military service for years
hard work and grit
consequences and punishments
and harsh words
but with an edge of gentleness and kindness
and his odd way of saying “I care for you”
type of love.

I was raised by my uncle
with his
funny jokes
many cars in his driveway
that he works on
“Go play with your cousin and
lemme drink my coffee”
type of love.

I was raised by my friends
and their
“I love you too, ya’ crazy”
inside jokes
“If you hurt her, I’ll hurt you”
emotional support
cry together when times are rough
type of love.

I was raised by my family
whom I was born with
and whom I chose to be my family

Words stain like red wine on your couch
and you try so hard to erase it out
but remnants will remain
and even when you no longer see it,
it will always exist in your mind
and you will remember,
memories and feelings will rush back
and you wish you could remove that stain--
that scar that won't ever disappear
in your mind as easily as you removed
that red wine.