A product of expectations

 I cannot count the years I have spent begging to be someone else

Someone more capable, more thinner perhaps, more charming, a beauty to withhold

I do not know who I am anymore

I am my mother's failed dreams

sculpted by the broken skin of my fathers' tired hands

I am the product of my brothers' failures

and a child lost in despair

Mirrors no longer shine as they used to

as I glance upon the what ifs of my being

How ugly is this resentment I carry

To be made of everyone but myself

How do I forgive myself?

I do not know where to start.

Ghosts of all I could've been

 I spent my 20's chasing ghosts of all those I thought I should be

Could be

Should've been

Until I finally became someone

Yet now that I am someone

I feel like I am no one

I feel like I am not enough

Someone explain to me how I spent 10 years chasing after dreams to make something of myself only to still be left wondering and focusing on the what ifs and the what could've been if becoming someone isnt enough.

I never thought I would ever come to the realisation the only ghost I have been chasing is my own shadow- and yet as I sit here with my shadow in front of me, asking me what else could I ever want when I have achieved the stability I craved so desperately for, I am rendered speechless.

To all the versions of me, I am sorry I put you through hell to only be unhappy

to all the future versions of me, i am sorry for feeling like I am not enough

I do not know how to feel like I am someone. But I will try. I will pick myself up and I will continue searching for this unknown feeling of never being satisfied enough. Of never being enough

I am sorry to you , dear self. How selfish and cruel I have been to put you through all this only to never tell you how thankful I am for bringing me where I am now. I am sorry.

My parents are running out of time

 My parents are running out of time

like the flowers that wilt after water no longer strengthens their stems

the way their petals droop

and the leaves curl up on themselves

daffodils and peonies wilt and fall

whilst roses stay as their petals fall one by one

My parents are running out of time.

I never knew distance could be as great as it is now