We never had enough when we were young.
We never needed much, but the exact amount was unknown.
We never got enough; toys food or clothes.
We didn't need that much, so "barely" was the most.
We never got enough of your time.
We didn't understand, the eldest not yet nine.
We didn't get enough, affection or warmth.
We never took for granted, but your time spent was short.
We didn't want more than enough, somehow understanding all you had.
We never asked for much: to play or share or cuddle.
We never got that, you liked to stay in your bubble.
We didn't ask for this, to be born, or brought into your life.
We didn't choose the love, or the lack thereof.
We didn't need the money, you hid away from us.
We had enough for us four, your greed was just because.
We had enough, We had enough, We had enough.
We had enough time, to learn proper affection.
We had enough vocabulary for simple conversation.
We had enough feelings, to know you didn't care.
We were not selfish, so why didn't you share?
Was it that we weren't enough, you needed a new man?
Was it that we weren't calm enough, it got out of hand?
Was it that you didn't have enough, of the finer things in life?
Was it that you didn't think enough, before becoming an underage wife?
Now we live out our lives, believing we aren't enough.
Now we live out our lives, always trying to be more, never being enough.
Now we live out our lives, working hard at enough.
Now we live out our lives, still not understanding the problem wasn't us.
the song of my existance.