I’m 22 now,
and sometimes I just look at myself and wonder
how am I still not there yet?
My parents gave everything.
My mom especially.
She carried me through the worst,
even when we had nothing.
She fought for my education,
begged for help when we couldn’t pay fees
just so I could have a shot at something better.
And me?
I talk back.
I argue when I know I’m wrong.
I get angry when I’m hurting,
and end up hurting her instead.
Then I cry alone,
asking myself—what kind of daughter am I?
She’s not mad because she hates me.
She’s mad because she believes in me.
Because she wants more for me
than I’ve given myself.
And I know that.
God, I know that.
But I still mess up.
And I hate myself for it.
I’m the youngest.
The last hope maybe.
And sometimes it feels like I’m failing them both,
just standing here, not being what they deserve.
Could I really do this?
Could I be the one who makes it all worth it?
Could I stop hurting the people
who only ever gave me love?
I don’t know.
But I want to try.
Because they deserve the world.
And I haven’t even given them enough to smile about yet.
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