PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Be honest.

Be polite.

Be good.

This is what we are told to do.

What do you get in return, I ask?

Love? Happiness? Freedom?

I am honest.

I am polite.

I am good.

But what did I get, I ask?

Not love. Not freedom. Not happiness.

Isn’t parents who give you these things?

Aren’t they the ones who are meant to love and cherish you with all of them?

Or am I wrong?

I am the good girl.

The quiet girl whom no one remembers.

I have no grand impact.

My siblings are not good.

The reckless romantic.

The hopeless partier.

The manipulator.

And the rebellious.

So tell me why they are the ones who are free, loved, and happy.

Tell me what I did wrong?

I promise you I will fix it if you just tell me, I am the good girl.

Tell me when my parents – the ones who brought me life – lost interest

I am the broken dirty toy they don’t want.

I am part of their old unhappy life weighing them down.

I am a nuisance.

But tell me how this is so? I am the good girl.

The naive idea of perfect parents from my youth fade away.

They were always right and knew what was best for us.

When did they stop caring what was best?

They were always there to mend the cracks and tears.

Where did they go?

Tell me what I did wrong?

The ache from my heart leaks through into my throat.

I think of them happy.

I think of them free.

I think of them loved. 

I think of the utter sadness that knows they are happy and loved because they are free of me.

I don’t want them to be these things.

Does this make me selfish?

But am the good girl.

Is this what I did wrong?

Or was it because I was last - or just simply because I was born at all?

Please just tell me.