Last child of yours
born 2, 4 years after the greatest humans
you ever created, born with endless potential
you have grand expectations of us (them),
its been sixteen long years
and here I am, the ghost of our, your family
the outcast, the disapointment,
the stain on your family name
but this book has been judged,
judged on the cover of a cage
with no room to stretch my wings and fly,
of a garden overgrown with weeds and no room
for this flower to finally bloom,
you do not see the words
that I have yet to write on these blank pages
I will emerge, like a bear, from the winter of my youth
and I will rise, like a phoenix, from the ashes of your illusions
but for now, now I wait
watching, waiting, listening, and preparing
soon I whisper to myself
soon this snake will strike