it's you

i never liked boys or pink things or babysitting or cleaning or Barbie dolls. i liked sweat and ripped jeans and books. i liked to face blank paper head on. i liked picking dirt from under my fingernails and i resent you trying to hook me up with that "nice Christian boy" because he was creepy and just as gay as i am. my favorite smells are roadkill gasoline skunk and cow manure. flowers are nice too but the only kind i want on my wall are the ones O'Keefe painted. you should've taken my hints instead of ignored them. i didn't like the mess that comes with long hair so i chopped it all off. when i did it the first time in fifth grade i think you should have just given in but instead you tried to force me into dresses like the insane are forced into straight-jackets. you made me lose my mind. for a while i slept with boys as a "fuck you are you happy now?" and always came away feeling raped. you had six sons and all you wanted was a daughter out of me but sometimes daughters like to wear dirty sneakers and drive trucks through the mud and have short hair and tattoos and kiss other girls. sorry for giving you the wrong impression for a while. sorry for conforming. don't get me wrong, sometimes i like skirts and make-up and cute shoes. but mostly i like to do the opposite of all those things. i can't change. i tried. i'll never hear this from you again but that's okay: i love you. no matter what. because love isn't black and white or boy and girl. sometimes it's girl and girl or boy and boy and girl or any other series of endless combinations even though you only see one. i don't have any problems with the things i do. it's not me. it's you.