my parents dont love me.
i was an accident.
a mistake. 
concieved while they were drunk. 

they love my siblings
all of them planned, beautiful, and smart
they could never do anything wrong.
in my parents' eyes. 

maybe it's because they weren't prepared
for a second kid. 
as they were the first, 
third, fourth and fifth. 
but not the second. 

maybe it's my fault. 
after all everything i do is wrong. 
i cleaned it wrong. 
i made it wrong. 
i said it wrong. 

and everything i do is bad. 
my grades are bad. 
my height is bad. 
my hearing's bad. 

maybe its because 
they don't want a broken child. 
depression. anxiety. autism. 
SI. SH. 
who could be more broken
compared to the others? 

maybe they were relieved
when i was born half dead
did they really want me here? 

maybe they did. 
so they could have a scapegoat.
or an example of how not to do things. 
or an example of stupid. 

My parents don't love me
 and they never will.
I'll always be an obligation
and a financial burden.

Have you met the middle child?
Who cries alone at night,
while their parents wonder
if their siblings are alright.
Have you met the middle child?
Who smokes and sulks and swears,
because they know that if they didn’t
others wouldn’t notice they’re there.
Have you met the middle child?
Who works so hard to be smart,
who learned to be one step ahead,
before the others could even start.
Have you met the middle child?
Who feels so conflicted inside,
and is always told what side to show
and what side they must hide.
Have you met the middle child?
Either emotional or cold,
because they wanted people to see them
so they had to be bold.
Have you met the middle child?
Always lost in the inbetween,
trying to find help somewhere
but has already given up by thirteen.
Have you met the middle child?
For they are left behind,
trying to tend to their wounds
to which the others are blind.