I live day to day, a stark contrast
to their kind, frail and dull
yet quite alive.
They have faces full as jars
and limbs like deep rooted trees.
I can't stop wanting their fate.
When they were born
their mothers and fathers loved them,
planned each day
on maps they'd made
before a word or a thought
was spoken of their future.
But my blood was accidental
and smelled of unwillingness.
I have always breathed calamity.
Many times I have tried
to force out the tragedy
but I think it likes me.
I am waist deep in dark water,
sinking through disbelief
at reasons for seasons
and what can never be.
Adding your comment:
I would say you have hit it on the head for the most part. Basically I got dealt a crappy hand as far as parents go, my father was an alcoholic and drug addict (my mother eventually left him thankfully) and my mom dealt with mental illness (and still does). To condense all this, I was taken from school in sixth grade, I dealt with terrible dysfunction, my motehr used me as a work horse, I supported her when I got old enough to work and finally at 22 wised up and moved out. After I met my husband (at the same age) and had a daughter, I was finally able to sort things out and go to college. I am now a senior, and when I am done will get my masters degree. However, I am continually reminded of what I can't have: a normal family and what comes with it. I can't help wishing that I could have gone to college at the traditional age, live in a dorm, have all those experiences. That's not everything I wish for, but a lot of what I was thinking of when I wrote this.