Is it my fault that I am wired differently?

Everybody thinks that I have lost a screw, an important one at that;
A screw that has made me lose my balance;
Probably a matter of laughs for many,
and often I have mocked myself too

But when I pause, look back and re-think,
I indeed lost a part of me,
each time, I was told I couldn't achieve anything;
A constant reminder that told me I was a born loser;

Even my cries, wails and sobs had no ears,
I wanted someone to hear them, was definitely my mistake,
yet, overtime, I thought it is all changed,
It is finally over!

Well...until now when I come to know what it means,
I was and will always be a loser,
Though most people I know tell me,
I am sweet, blessed and wonderful
It hurts real hard when your parents make you feel a petty loser!

Who is this ideal daughter?
I always wanted to make them happy and of course, a little proud,
Just a while back, I am told I am not even worth being called one,
Tomorrow, they might laugh it off as a small joke,
For me, it is today that my world came crashing!

Who is this ideal daughter?
Why am I compared to her? An unknown face suddenly matters more?
I am wired differently!
If I laugh on myself doesn't mean, it doesn't hurt!
Is there no one who can understand my wiring system?

Yeah, I am an emotional fool;
A soul that has been trying to inch towards satisfaction,
and it was just taken away
Why? Only because I am told I am no ideal daughter!

Who is this ideal daughter?
Who knows how to keep everyone happy? Do all work? Manage home and work simultaneously?
Who listens to her parents even if she is not happy?
Well, then, I am no ideal daughter!
I am wired way too differently!

Hard truth?

Red is everywhere. The colour of danger, of blood, of deep buried emotions, and of fear warning of tremendous pain beyond a physical injury. Each drop of blood rushing out of the wound reminds of each and every instance where I was disappointed and yet kept on believing and hoping for a miracle to happen.

A miracle which would end a lot of suffering and make me feel complete. Pieces of broken glass reflect images of fantasies I lived in, of a world of imagination that was so mine and yet I could not make them real. I never felt the need to justify myself but as the time passes, these shattered glass pieces hold the key for me.

May be, I am one of them or could be soon. The fear of being a victim of my own thinking overpowers me at times and these times are hard. As a drop of blood comes rushing out of the bruised finger, the reality of hoping for a miracle to happen soon seems vague and the journey seems endless.

Each drop of blood recounts a memory shared. I allowed myself to be taken for a ride because I have always believed in what the future holds for us. As i try to accept that a day may soon come when everything will be over and you will tell me the hard truth, I stop the fresh blood oozing out of the bruises.

The acceptance of reality is something I have gone over and over again but it never has stuck me the way it did today. I may become one of the pieces that need to be thrown out. My dreams look abandoned. My life looks incomplete. My love for you is still there but you never believed in it. I can not force my views on you but if it had to happen, it would have, had. Its time i accepted it. Let the blood flow, and give me the strength to fight it out with myself. Each piece of glass stands for all the times, I was shattered and yet i chose to live with it. Each bruise stands for the pain, I chose to ignore.

Yet, the reality is I was the glass in your life which would have hurt the dreams that you have. The mind says, it is better to move on, but it is heartbreaking just like the broken glass.