When I was 15 my mother told me I was not the daughter she raised. No good household of hers was going to be equipped with a dyke. I began to refer to myself as Jane Doe. Jane Doe was birthed under the moonlight of a creative mind and an introverted heart. Jane Doe can't respect authority when she sees none deserving of her cooperation.She speaks her mind until beaten to a pulp and even then will forgo the operation to raise a bloody fist against an order she deems worthy of confrontation.Jane Doe likes the same sex and keeps getting back with her ex and is an awful sister and never tells her mother she missed her.This entity that rose from the ashes of emotional abuse stemmed from the hatred she lives through. I couldn't be more proud of Jane Doe. Black sheep isn't a fitting metaphor for me because in most ways I'm like you mom. You showed me how to stick it to the man which is why I could never understandWhy sticking it to you would grant you the right to hit or grab me. Why you have the right to disown what you see, you say you do this because you love me.You taught me how to speak bullets just like you, but I also learned how to regard the exit wound. I am not an invitation to fix, I am a whole human not equipped for your kicks in the stomach made of lead and poison words.Loving me shouldn't mean to take away my identity, it should mean you be the remedyOf pain from a stranger who dare strike a nerve with the person they don't deserve to breath the same air as. Love is freedom, love is acceptance, love is patience and not dependence. Because I love you is a compliment, not resentment.