I am here to lament my place, in the pecking order of birth;
To be the first born child would have solidified my worth.
I could have been born the “baby”; a boy, and last of the three;
But I was in between, which make me a “middle “child you see.
To be first makes you special; it makes you your parent’s delight.
The last is always the baby protected; from harm or from fright.
Add to my reasoning; he’s the only boy, which means special is he;
Then there’s the ‘middle” child; what was thereto be special in me?
I was the accident that happened, between “her” and “him;”
one sister and one brother; the perfect little family for them.
So I fought for attention; in ways you could never think of.
I was the squeaky wheel,crying out for a share of their love
I was the comic; the performer, the people pleaser;so was my role;
Though I’m not sure it was what I felt, way deep down in my soul.
I think all us “Middles” are kindred spirits who feel much the same way.
If we could change order of our births, we’d be different people today.