Mistake Maker

Before being born, mistake I was called,
came out silent like I knew something.
Could not permit myself to be so bold
as to ever cry or laugh or sing.

Growing up was rather strange
in the atmosphere of utter fear.
Very tight was my comfort range,
calmly awaiting the shouts to hear.

Never had the nerve to be proud,
hid in the shadows like a mouse.
Always felt like lost in the crowd,
never at ease in my own house.

In front of peers I seemed small and tiny,
anyone could fire at will.
While life of another was bright and shiny,
I was made to pay each bill.

Anything I did was seen as mistake,
nothing I said was ever right.
Straight to stone was turned my every cake,
so obvious was my life's plight.

I dreamt of being a doctor or an actor,
or even a skilled blacksmith or a baker,
but fate was a deciding downward factor.
I could only become a mistake maker.