I remember when I small

And I would ask you for a sleepover for my every birthday

Because I wanted to be close to you

Because I think I secretly hated living at home

Where the air was a little toxic

And I was afraid to speak

Because they all made fun of me

(But you always defended me)

And there was yelling everyday

About new and old offenses--

Nothing was too small to argue about

(But you never yelled and you loved your husband and you were kind).

 

So I asked for sleepovers.

 

And I think sometimes I wanted to live with you in DC,

Even though your apartment was kind of crappy

And there were bars on the windows

And your car had two doors and no air conditioning;

 

But it all felt like ¾ home to me.

 

So I asked to sleep over for my birthdays,

Just the two of us.

 

And we would go to dinner or you would make me pasta or soup.

 

And sometimes the others would come and it would be just us four

Or us five,

 

And I would be happy,

Or at least content for the weekend.

 

And I don’t think I could have lived without it

 

Because the air at home was half toxic -

 

But it wasn’t toxic enough to kill me

 

So it’s only suffocated me until I’ve lost my voice before I’ve gotten the chance to learn that I’m

allowed to have one,

So now they think they can tell me that my silence is my flaw.

 

And I don’t think I would have lived without you to tell me

That it wasn’t a flaw

And that I wasn’t crazy for being me

Or for wanting to be me.

 

And I’ve almost died before,

Even though I still have you,

So I really think I would have died without you.

 

And you asked me once what I would bring to a desert island

If I were somehow stranded and could only bring one thing,

And I think I said the European chocolate one of my friends brought back from Germany

Or something meaningless like that

 

But I think I would have brought you

 

Because you were my escape

 

From a half toxic wasteland

Strong enough to take my voice away.