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Who am I? I tend to ask myself;
you’re my child; my parent says
but oh, am I?
you’re my sibling; my brother says
but oh, am I?
another pain in my heart
I’m not good enough for that
a burden from the start
Who am I? I tend to ask myself;
you’re the perfect child
but oh, am I?
you’re the favorite child
but oh, am I?
I follow down the trail
trying to do my best
only to realize that it’s just a test
that I keep seeming to fail
you don’t hear my thoughts
you can’t see my cries
you don’t see the sweat
whenever I truly seem to try
Who am I? I tend to ask myself;
you’re my child; my parent says
but oh, am I?
you’re my sibling; my brother says
but oh, am I?
I ask a question that—
never seems to get an answer
I’m left standing there—
always left forgotten
Who am I? I tend to ask myself;
Does someone have an answer
can you promise me one?
I always seem to ask myself;
and every time I do. . .
I never seem. . .
to find the answer. . .
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142,224 Literary Works • 677,045 Reviews
This is a beautiful work of art; your repetition and purposeful rhythm make me giddy!
The dynamic between you and your family—how they see you as something they don't have to watch over. Throughout the story I drew comparisons to you and a fruit, still on the branch—perfectly ripe and sweet. Your family, naive—they believe that something that is perfect will always be perfect, so they set you aside, leaving you to, unbeknownst to them, rot (on the inside, at least).
Its good poem