The Worlds Obsession

Family

When I think about my family, laughing in the car, I can't help but think of others, and how miserable they are.
Maybe they are happy, hard to say for certain.
Yet if they are, they hide it, behind a blackout curtain.
Married, divorced, married again.
Strangers in the same house, a contract by a pen.
They barely talk, and when they do, It's usually to argue.
If you think that we're the weird ones, you're not really looking, are you?
My family's odd, I know it.
Others think it too.
I sometimes hear them whisper, though I doubt they know I do.
Even another family, those branches from the tree, fail to understand us, and that's alright with me.
They should be strict, my Aunt says, and probably married too.
Yet it's seventeen years later And they've lasted more than you.
We talk like friends because we are.
We chat and laugh and play.
Can't act like just a son;
I've never known the way.
My other friends have siblings.
I have my mum and dad.
Yet I've never once felt lonely, so it's really not that bad.