Youngest Child

The Boondocks,
my sisters told me,
was not a desirable
place to be –

‘cool’ being the theme
of our generation –
the line between
what was ‘in’
and what was not,
seemed fragile

to my imagination,
mind climbing
to copious possibilities

constantly slammed
by uptight, in-the-know
older siblings

Is it any wonder
that I never belonged,
the line of inclusion
always just out of reach?

Grew fond of
tucked away
spaces –
isolation

Adapted to
the “boonies” –
more refuge
than exile.

(Poem is brought to you by the inspirational prompting of Ragtag Community (copious), Daily Addictions (theme), Fandango’s (fragile), and Manic Mondays 3 Way prompt (Boondocks).

Published by

VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

20 thoughts on “Youngest Child”

  1. Interesting reflection. I thought for awhile that I must have been adopted. Two brothers. Middle child. Always yearned for a sister. Exulansis developed and bloomed in teen years. Artistic pursuits were my friends.

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  2. I love being out in the boondocks! Maybe I owe my older sister a thank-you?
    Utter truth in your lines:
    “constantly slammed / by uptight, in-the-know / older siblings
    … I never belonged, / the line of inclusion / always just out of reach?”

    Liked by 1 person

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