We are given equal space on the walls,
Photographs hung with pride.
They say
"I love you."
and
"Be safe."
To both of us, as we stride
Out the door.
But it can be felt
In the tones and the words unsaid
That there is, in fact,
A favorite child.
They've always said
He's their favorite son
And I'm their favorite daughter.
The cheap words burn my ears as they filter in.
The truth is
They have a favorite.
But what kills me?
What makes my soul ache?
Is the fact that I can't figure out what I did wrong.
What made them choose him.
Is it because he is a son?
Or because he's older?
Is it because mom sees me as her reflection?
Making the same "wrong" choices as her?
Is this about a conversation she overheard?
Or did I not work hard enough?
What could I have done to make her love,
That once felt so warm,
Turn colder than her disappointment?
It's hard when the favorite moves away
And they're left living with their second choice.
The one with anxiety
And OCD
Which makes her hard to live with.
But soon enough
I'll be gone, too.
Living in my own walls
Filled with photographs
of only my
Favorite people
213 Words
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Late Night Poems
شِعرPoetry for the broken souls. Enjoy a private glimpse into my mind which is not given even to those closest to me. I hope you can find a friend in the words on your screen. I don't have an upload schedule; it may be a long time between uploads. I'm...
