I watch from the corner,
a Christmas party in full swing.
And I, ever most the loner,
sip my wine quietly, studying the family I was
born into.
The family I love to hate,
for they do not understand
who I am.
Yet know me better than anyone.
Off to the side in the low light,
I watch the ones I call family.
I toast to them and laugh at their antics,
I am more a part of them than part of my blood.
What makes a family?
I surely don't know.
In a matter of days, months, even
a year;
I'll be long gone, off to start anew.
What makes a family?
Surely I don't know.
But I'd take the ones that make me laugh,
over the ones that make me cry.