My family is constantly asking,

How many girls,

And how many boys,

I plan on having when I’m older and married.

Because, of course,

As a female of our species,

I’m expected to settle down and procreate with a man.

And I’m too young to know,

Or to rule out the possibility of marriage or children.

And in a weird round about way,

They’re right.

I lied.

I do plan on getting married and having children.

But man,

Is heteronormativity a blinder.

In truth,

I hope me and my future wife,

Make a collaborative decision as equals,

As to raise a child.

And if we do,

And we get to choose the name,

And it’s a girl,

I will insist she is named Mercy,

After the most beautiful word in the English language,

And in hope,

She will remember that word,

In a world that has forgotten it.

This poem is about: 
My family


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