I sometimes wonder why I was made <br />Though I was a child, friend, or even a dear person to someone <br />I sometimes feel out of place, misfit <br />Never understood or only appreciated when convenient <br />Always giving, very little receiving <br />Always sharing, very little been shared in return <br />Why? Is my despairing cry <br />Why do I feel as though only God is by my side <br />I feel and they know, but think little of it <br />Apologies, regrets, sympathy, you name it, they give it <br />But it never ends <br />It seems to be the beginning of the end of mankind’s nature, of self<br /><br />Joy Lovelet Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/despair-51/
