What She Meant To Me.

Just because I hold hands,
With my best friend,
Doesn't mean that we're lesbians.

So you can shove that ugly look of your face,
All your homophobic insensitivities
And all those words you speak—yeah, they're just a waste.

If anything,
She was more to me,
Than you ever were.

She was my mother when you were my bully,
She was my sister when I had no shoulder to cry to,
She held me up when I cried because you called me fat and ugly.
I leaned on her when you put me down.
So who are you to pass judgment?

If I could rewind time,
I wish I could've been half the friend to her that she's been for me.
Scared midnight calls because you said something mean again,
threatened me again.

She was always angry for me when I couldn't have been.
She consoled me when I was incoherent,
And where were you, when you were supposed to be the parent?

Kicking the wounded puppy,
Spitting on it when it started to cry.
Humiliation and condescension is nothing new to me.
But as a parent, as my mother, you should've been the grown up to stop yourself and realize:

The pain I tried to hide.
The notebooks filled with poems, the uncharacteristic bursts of tears.
You couldn't handle it because I wasn't your perfect daughter.
So who are you to try and judge us?

So go ahead and lock up those mean words.
All your hypocritical sexist insensitivities.
And all those nasty looks—yeah, they're just a waste.

Just because I held hands,
With my best friend,
Doesn't mean that we're lesbians.

If anything,
She was more to me,
Than you ever were.