Untitled

I don’t feel your support

I feel your judgement and condescension

Lurking at every corner

Constantly watching, waiting

to identify my every mistake

Exploiting me of my imperfection

Accentuating them to me in ways that they often become who I see myself as

Photo by Rob Martin on Unsplash

I don’t feel your concern

I feel your disdain

Indefinitely shunning me to a box with my name engraved on it

As if my home until death do we part

I don’t feel your love

I feel your selfishness to love me

only

when I do as you wish

Whispering to me that I don’t deserve love unless earned

I often wondered why I had been destined with a mind of depreciation

I often wondered where I could have possibly went wrong

I’ve come to understand,

eventually,

it was not from my own hand

Though it was mine who’d save me