M.I.A.

The ever-present emptiness I hadn't realized was there,

Only showing in times I was surrounded by my peers.

Being a child, naivety is an inherent trait,

Granting bliss and numbing over pain that should be rampant.

Encasing the ever-growing void until the brutally honest world gave the strength to acknowledge it. 

Though I realized much too late what the actual cause could be.

 A missing role,

A forgotten presence,

Forcing a child through society without the needed encouragement.

Growing up too fast in a world too slow,

Taking on tasks that allowed me to put on a show.

"You are quite mature for your age", they would say.

But that is because I just wasn't raised the same.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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