No child grows up with the same parents.
We share the same last name,
But under that roof, we each lived a different life,
A new lesson for her, a new shape of love, or lack.

My sisters knew her storms, felt her voice crack the air,
But they had each other to brace against the thunder,
Voices raised, ready to push back.
They were a team, a wall she couldn’t break.
I was alone, caught in the gap between, number five.
Those who’d already left and those too young to understand.

When it was my turn, the house turned hollow,
Echoes bouncing back at me,
No voices to join mine, no hands to steady me.
Just me, bearing the weight of her anger alone,
Feeling like a stepchild that wasn’t asked for,
An outsider in a house that didn’t feel like home.

Now with my younger brothers, she’s patient, calm,
Worn down by time or soothed by the man who stayed.
They see her smile, a gentleness I only know as rumor,
A side I never knew but can’t help but ache for.

We share her name, carry pieces of her story,
But each piece is different, each story stitched in its own shade.
They see a mother, and I see a shadow.
They remember a home, and I remember a cage.

If I tell them my truth, they say, that’s not her.
But I know, just as well as they do,
No child grows up with the same parents.