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.