It’s a shame you can’t chose your parents
divorced from emotions and rooted in facts
an unlikely pair.
Separate offices like the separate bedrooms,
archetypes define my existence.
New dad has the same habits as birth dad
projectile tobacco and homeless chic
with a fetish for expensive toys.
Birth mom still thinks whoever has the most stuff
when they die wins.
New mom has the same hair color,
they all just want me to be better than they are.
There’s a jar of vinegar in her office labeled ‘not urine’
and every time I see it, it makes me have to pee
maybe I’ll switch the cup
and leave a little piece of me behind.
New dad might just be a vampire
newspapers cover the salvage yard doors,
I love his bloody music.
He asks me if there’s any wonder or beauty left for me in this world
I answer no, a typical response.
I’m usually thinking when is this going to end
when people talk to me
but with them
I’m scraping the bag to get off sick.
How I ended up here, loving these people,
may just be proof of God.