I love my older sister and my mother with all my heart. Yet I can't help but wonder if I was my mom's favorite would I have turned out better then I am.
Would I be just as smart as my sister? Just as pretty?
My words are forgetten in a second the moment she speaks. Always interupting like I'm not even there.
And no matter how times you yell at me or you've done something wrong, you make the bad one.
All though you've done something wrong, you'll always be better then me.
I may be the youngest but I'm not the baby, she is. She is craddled and waited on. While I'm pushed to the side.
Forcing to become independent.
My thoughts cloud my head, there's nobody to tell them to. Learn for so many years to bottle up everything I feel. For if I can't feel them anymore, then it won't bother me.
It won't when you take her side over mine. When you ingore me for her.
I may be the youngest but she is the baby. I'm just here, to take anything she dishes out and keep my mouth shut.
If things were different, even just a little. Maybe I wouldn't want to run away. Maybe I could actually be happy and normal, sort of.
Even just a little.
If things were different, would I be different.
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