Tell me, mother,
if I let my hands blister from reaching for you,
if I bite my tongue until it bleeds to protect my virtues,
will you love me then?
or will I always be the child you sigh at,
half love, half regret?

Tell me, father.
if I stand taller, speak less,
make myself small enough to fit inside your expectations of "the best",
will you be less disheartened?
or will I always be a shadow of the son you yearned?

Tell me, sis,
if I break myself into pieces,
lace my voice with sweetness,
shield you from every storm,
will you see me then?
or will I forever be the ghost you'd ignore?

Tell me, friend,
if I let you take and take,
if I swallow every "I'm tired before it leaves my lips,
if I love you more than I love myself,
will you stay?
or was I always meant to be left?

tell me,
how much of me must I carve away,
before I am worth keeping?