not a poem tbh

I dont know what to do nor what to say to you. was I born simply to be the mirror of your desires? of what you wished you could do? is that why I'm bedridden with longing? was I born simply to be a clone of the you that you wished you could have been? I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill your dreams after you showed me a bog of them I have my own, mother I am your daughter. not a dream. I am your child. not an extention of yourself, of what you could've been