I Am
I am soft.
I am loved and coddled by a mother and a father,
who say I am the center of their world.
I am adored by all
that I have made grandparents for the first time.
I am innocent and precious in the eyes of my aunt,
who thinks of me as her own.
I am spoiled.
I am jealous.
I am no longer the only apple in the eyes of my admirers.
I am only the first out of 2…3…4 grandchildren.
I am forced to share the love that is unevenly distributed
among babies and toddlers and a forgotten princess.
I am no longer innocent in the eyes of my aunt,
who longs for a child to call her own, but is not granted this one wish.
I am not old enough to understand loss.
I am selfish.
I am quiet.
I am figuring out that I don’t have that much to say.
I am aware that I can be too loud
so it’s best I stay silent.
I am the product of burn and backstabbing;
therefore, I know how to keep a secret.
I am capable of saying too much and not saying enough.
I am restrained.
I am replaced.
I am the oldest; no, the middle child.
I am still part of the family, but am I still included?
I am now out of 6 or 7 or something like that.
I am no longer the first because my sister is older.
It does not matter.
I am alone;
However, I Am Tough
Because I am still learning to share.
Because I am still adapting to every situation.
Because I am persevering through every negative comment thrown my way.
Because I know that I am loved no matter what.
But in the end,
I am tough because I started out soft.