What Have I Become

I used to be a golden child, a student at the top,

Acing every single class, it felt like I couldn't stop.

No need to study, no review, the answers came with ease,

And Mom would call me quick-witted—a title meant to please.

I walked with that word like a friend, it held me up so high,

A badge of honor that I wore beneath a flawless sky.

But then the quiet house exploded, tearing at the seams,

The divorce became a wrecking ball that shattered all our dreams.

Suddenly, the world went cold, and I was left alone,

A broken piece of pottery, unfixable, unknown.

I cried into the empty space, the tears a heavy flood,

Wondering how a happy life could end up in the mud.

Then came the day we had a test, and I stepped out to try,

I thought that I was ready, thought my old self hadn't died.

The papers were returned to us, I reached out for my part—

A C was staring back at me, a dagger to my heart.

Absurd. Impossible. Unfair. It didn’t fit my name,

And looking at my mother's face, I saw her anger flame.

"I’ll try much harder on the next," I swore to clear the air,

And she believed her golden child, because she loved me there.

But promises are fragile things when your whole world is cracked,

And when the next test rolled around, I lacked the strength to act.

An F. A heavy, bleeding red. It hit me like a blow.

I’d never gotten one before, I didn't mean to go

Down to the place where failures live, but there I was, undone,

The quick-witted kid completely lost beneath a darkened sun.

"Pick up your grades," she tells me now, the worry in her tone,

I tell her that I’ll try my best, but I am so alone.

Because the moment she walks out and leaves the house to me,

I numb the pain and drown the thoughts by bingeing on TV.

I skip out on my schoolwork, let the deadlines pass me by,

Too paralyzed to care enough, too exhausted to try.

So now I sit here in the dark, the screen the only light,

Fleeing from the person that I used to be at night.

Staring at the shadow of the things I left undone,

And asking of the empty room:

What have I become?