Born behind a shadow,

abandoned.

A second option for those—

who could not have

their own.

Pushing past limits

to fill a hole not meant for me.

To be the perfect one,

yet deep down

alone

Do this, do that,

and don't disappoint.

The bar set high over

a pile

of bone

Broken from falling,

each time I miss

or slip.

Who cares?

Jump again,

but the only way

is down.

This is who I am,

who I was raised to be.

Don't ask

me to change.

Unrealistic is not motivating

or inspiring,

yet it brings results

if you ignore your life

of groan.

You can only have one

they said;

Make it a boy

they said.

We millions were not boys.

Out fermented hands reaching

up

and down the ground littered with us,

Voices crying out

silently, not heard, not seen, wrapped

in plastic

singed at the edges.

Lambs led to sacrifice,

born only for that.

So many lost

with hearts stilled

long before true beating—

beating—

beating—

beating—

And silence.

Who is left? I am

here.

One of millions

to find a path

unwanted or forbbiden,

different.

Our forgotten generation spread

like sheer, thin plastic

the same covering

our fellow sisters,

our fallen sisters,

little angels fly away.

I'd let the little angels fly away.

I had always known

where I was born.

But then the clouds broke—

into an endless blue—

blue of an ocean, separating

a baby

a mother.

Another mother now loves another's,

cradling

a stranger who would be me.

Approached the gate

to a park. The gate

to an orphanage. The gate

which was yet another mother's harms

wrapped around a trembling me.

It might have been cruel to leave

the first time

way long ago. And Now I was to leave

again.

Again, I become a daughter.

Is it enough now? Will I be enough?