Middle Child

people always ask, “is there something wrong with you? perhaps a loose screw or two”

i have no devotion to succeed, my motivation drifted out of my window along with the smoke from my weed

they ask “why can’t you be like your sister?” she cooks, she cleans and she doesn’t stop until the soles on her feet bleed

but she’s fine, she’s perfect, they say “be perfect like her”

i obsess and chew on my nails, why do i do that? apparently it is why i do not attract any males.

they ask me “are your nails sweet?” i can’t eat sweets, i am ruining my teeth like i am ruining my life. it is hard to compete

my sisters teeth are perfect, clean and pristine. look at her. they gleam like the golden halo above her perfect conditioned hair, she doesn’t need sugar, she is above sugar

but i am all the way down here, i need to be on the upper, with the ones who have promising careers who listen when information goes in one ear and doesn’t come out the other

my sister gets up at 5 in the morning everyday, she starts her day the same way worried that she'll collapse as her bones will start to decay from cleaning up my scrapes

my room is a mess, i don’t use hangers. i display my clothes on my bed like my lack of morals. i disrespect rules as a stubborn contempt of a teenage rebellion. but i can’t be a rebel. i am not interesting enough for the horrors.

i can see it in everyone’s eyes, i am a disappointment. i never appreciate what they do for me, i never try to be a winner and i never eat my dinner

i never eat the dinner they consistently provide for me, as they constantly remind me of the life they set aside for me

i need to eat it, eat it all, eat it at a reasonable time with a glass of milk, i need milk like i need a catalyst for growth i’ll never grow to be tall

i need to be tall, i need to be perfect, i need to be perfect like my sister

i need to pay more attention. i need to organise my life, my life is a disaster just like my teeth, just like my room, just like my future which will soon come to an end if i don't put down this pen

i need to stop writing, my life is not book why does everyone always give me that look?

i know, they are just trying to help me, they are just trying to love me, i have to let them love me so that i can be perfect, be perfect like them