Type of Child

I’ve been told to count my blessings.

I’m the type of child who gets hit and made fun of by my family,

Vows that this time I won’t come back,

But then lets the relationship mend itself within the day.

 

I’m the type of child who has to share my bed with my mother

Because we can’t afford or fit any others,

The type of child who’s made to feel small and pathetic without someone’s help,

But also ridiculed for not being able to stand on my own.

 

I’m the type of child who has been asking to see a therapist for 3 and a half years

But then gets yelled at each time I ask.

I’m told that, no, I actually don’t have depression or anxiety,

My problem lies that I don’t have a good relationship with God.

If I fix relationship, my mental illnesses will simply evaporate.

 

I’m the type of child who my mom talks about in a negative light in the front seat of the car to a friend while I’m sitting in the back seat.

She’s always saying how selfish I am and how I always ask for things I can’t have.

Then when I call her out on it, that, no, I don’t do that, she back peddles as if she didn’t just say that.

 

I’m the type of child who’s scared whenever my mom is

Nice, and let’s me do anything.

I’m the type of child whose mom thinks I smoke weed downtown

When I’m just eating ice cream with friends.

 

I’m the type of child who has a set routine

But when I slip up, I’m irresponsible, I’m fucking pathetic.

My mom yells at me every day,

I can’t remember a day when she didn’t make me feel anxious or deplorable.

 

I’m the type of child who gets yelled at because I don’t like being touched.

I get too emotionally attached to the stupidest things, but then crash.

I get yelled at whenever I cry and whenever I lack motivation to do anything.

Why should I do my AP homework if in the end I’m too broke for college anyway?

We’re all going to die anyway.

 

I get yelled at for being quiet, for being loud, for crying.

My mom “doesn’t understand.”

But doesn’t have the patience to understand,

And gets angry when I don’t want to explain it because I know how she’ll react if I try.

 

Someone told me that I need to stop writing depressing poems.

I’ve been told to count my blessings.

Not everyone is fucking neurotypical.

It’s difficult when you’re in such a negative fore environment.

 

It’s hard to count my blessings when all of them seem to

Come with a down side.

Yes, I have a house. But that house is also a one room apartment with my

Manipulative family. Yes, they love me, but that love appears to be selective.