You, the unlucky ones, not cared for in your early years,
Your resilience fails to blossom like the lucky ones
Who know little of your pains and fears
But ask what you would do if you had a magic wand
As if that will provide them with solutions to you, the problem.

 “Why us? Why no normal boring ****?”
The miraculous odds that you were conceived
Offset by the misfortune of love unfit,
A birth with much promise but ultimately deceived,
To fend for yourselves like moths and butterflies.

Trust takes time and is quid pro quo,
You need lessons in attachment and love,
But this is something that most adults don’t know.
Instead they humour you or treat you with kid gloves,
Meaning that your adolescence is a bitter surprise
When you’re no longer the person they can infantilise.