Family

I admit that even though it would seem to outsiders
the nuclear poster child of happy families
my mother would paste on holiday cards
all smiles in matching snowflake red sweaters
this unit pales in
comparison, depth, meaning
to the people I live with
three quarters of my year.
They know my favorites things better
as well as anyone can actually know me,
I concede that I am secretive.
And yet somehow I am expected
to be more loyal
to those I see less
and only share blood with.

But only? Can one really ONLY do anything
in regards to blood.
I don't know.
Maybe it isn't the people I miss.
But the freedom.
The choices.
The ease of movement
and the feeling of being wanted
of being told you are missed.
Of actually missing.
Rather than simply being absent.