Middle child: a poem for Amber

She was always speaking out of turn

Has a sharp tongue

Came with attitude

Never learning a child place

I guess that’s why she so grown now

Old soul

Feels she been grown for awhile

Learning to read rooms

Read lips

Before she could even read

Making out others words

before she could make out

Her own thoughts

She’s always been my mothers most mature child

Loved golden girls

Saving money

Emotionally matured

Still the middle I guess that’s why she was always in the middle of everything

In the middle of fights between me and mother

In the middle seat in car rides

Figured the middle is where she comfortable

Now we here we are in the middle of this weird place

Trying to move forward and not having the ability to erase

The past

The pain

The memory

Minced word

Blanks faces