I heard you talking about me the other day.

I heard you talking about me the other day.
You refused to call me your daughter,
Or even your son,
Just your “older one.”

I knew you wouldn’t accept me right away,
But I thought if I were open with you,
Maybe you’d come around.
Was I a fool?

We’ve grown so much closer over the past year,
Yet sometimes I feel farther apart than ever.
These words sit right below the surface,
Left unspoken so it stays comfortable.

This isn’t what I wanted for us.
I just wanted to be your daughter.
You know what I’ve endured to arrive here,
Still you act like I haven’t earned it.

I’m just a thing,
Something other than,
Something to talk around,
Never to wholly acknowledge.

Your love,
You claimed unconditional.
I told you I didn’t believe it,
And this is what I meant.

Your illusion of adoption;
My illusion of acceptance.
Your façade of empathy;
My façade of ignorance.

I don’t want to be less-than,
I’m tired of “coming soon.”
I desire nothing more than to just be,
Alongside you.

But maybe I’m wasting my time,
Hoping for a future that will never be.
Maybe I’ll never be anyone’s daughter,
Merely the shattered memories of a son that never was.