I AM

I am my mother’s shortcomings and the things she dislikes.

I am my father’s least favorite, a child with no rights.

I am a nomad who does not move and stays in one state.

I am all the things my mind wishes it didn’t hate.

I struggle, I burn, though it is unseen and unheard.

What I dream of is nothing and will always be deterred.

I have no life of my own in this lonely house with many I share.

My only hope is one day I will feel a sense of care.

I am misunderstood, underestimated and mostly undermined.

I have no parent, none to confide in as they are utterly unkind.

I am tasteless, I am bitter, I have nothing good to say.

I have no place to call my home, I am ritually in dismay.

I am dull, as I was told, “a scholar” as my mother’s sarcasm.

If only one day she’d feel me, know me and see my enthusiasm.

I am tired, so tired and helpless down casted in my condition.

I am tired, I am exhausted, I am no longer motivated or driven.