The Favorite

My brother is my father's favorite,
And my sister is my mom's.
I was my grandma's favorite.

It doesn't matter that they never say it,
That they deny it when it comes up,
And always say they don't have a favorite.

My brother once agreed with me -
Maybe he just picked up on the embodied emotion
That was very present at that time, when we were children.

But actions speak louder than words,
And I know I was the difficult child,
The one who did not placate them.

I was not the one they truly understood,
Though I do know that they tried to love me,
And because of them, I am not nearly as broken as I could be.

Quite frankly they are better parents now than they used to be,
And that might be the most amazing thing.
And for that, they do deserve better, and I can work to forgive.