It Should Have Been Four

A poem by Shelby-Liza Ndumbi

There are multiple sides to a story, but they never tell mine

They made me believe such a cruel state of mind

The only thing I ever knew was the pain they called love

It wasn’t something I was allowed to shove

People say the middle child gets tossed into obscurity 

But don’t expect that kind of nonsense in this family

“Middle“ is just another word for scapegoat

It only means they don’t count your vote

Always yelling and hitting 

Never shutting up and listening

Constantly undermining and insulting 

Never changing and self-reflecting 

They refuse to admit they are the venom that kills me

The very thing that knocks me out in threes 

The voice that will never be free 

The psyche that’s struck in that tree 

The one who won’t express false glee 

My words matter not as they’re swept under the rug 

I’m always to blame, I’m always the problem, I’m the little slug 

A narrative that suits them perfectly 

So, they won’t have to take responsibility 

My mistake was raising my hand and falling into the scheme

I fought to protect, that was part of my seam

I’ve become they’re version of the Devil’s spawn

The backhanded slaps don’t stop at dawn

Fear equals respect

Being quiet means I accept 

I don’t curse, but I reject 

The hand with fake modesty to repent

One plays God, the other plays pretend 

The smallest one appeases, while the eldest consents 

One knot, two knots, three knots, four

They drive themselves deeply into my core

There’s poison in my tea, and I willingly drink it

But, oh, pay no mind that my skin has been slit

I don’t recall the first time I drew blood 

I simply thought it wouldn’t cause a flood 

A needle, a piece of wood, a toothpaste tube, but never a knife 

I was smart enough not to give myself that strife

Every seed should have value

The layers that make you

I’ve tried everything to make them cease

But I can see they want me to be the disease

If only they had waited a couple of years 

Things would have been sweeter for you, my dears 

An error has been committed 

And as the odd one out, it must be corrected 

A wide, open space where I can heal

I’d even start yoga and understand the appeal 

I’d run around weightlessly and sleep better

As you know, four is stellar

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