As we grow we get wearied and torn
And from that point we can never be reborn.
It takes a while to realise
Until you see the bias behind their eyes
I came first you see, before the rest
Patient 0, the trial run, the practice test.
Everything’s new, they don’t know
Especially how deep their words can go.
It starts small, light favouritism here and there,
But then it’s feels like they don’t even care.
“They’re younger! You should know better!”
You won’t think of those moments when you read the letter.
With my room so clean, without spec.
It almost perfect, without the bedsheets around my neck.
“Where did we go wrong?” You’ll wonder?
But won’t remember the time you called me a monster?
It’s ok, I really do understand,
You’re sick of trenching on new land.
You want to stay where it’s safe and known.
So I got used to figuring things out on my own.
As we grow, we get old and torn.
Hard to compete when new models are born.
So I’ll grow early like a dandelion in a sidewalk; if thats what it will take for you to let me talk.
-
Author:
Brokensoul1425 (
Offline) - Published: January 3rd, 2026 08:30
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem means a lot to me personally since it connects to what it feels like personally being the eldest child in a big family
- Category: Sad
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments2
I too am the eldest child and hear what you are saying. There is a responsibility in that role expected by parents and the younger children. Sometimes one catches the blame for things the younger do and the expected example you are supposed to show. A junior parent without asking but it helps you grow up faster robbed a bit of your own childhood. A lovely write
Good write with its message understood
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.