You Don’t See Me

When you look at me,
you don’t see me.
You see the hero for your cause,
a soldier standing tall.
You see a pawn to be moved
whichever way you chose.
But you don’t see me.

When you look at me,
you don’t see me.
You see a child to protect
though the world has spun me ‘round.
A boy to be mothered
and stuffed with lots of food.
Yet I can’t seem to object
to the child you see in me.

When you look at me,
you don’t see me.
You see my father in my place,
a friend that’s long since passed.
You frown when I fall short
of that echo from the past
of the man I never knew,
of the man I’ll never be.
But when you look at me,
You never see me.

When you look at me,
you don’t see me.
You see the man that you hate.
You ignore what’s really there
to hold on past grudges.
You see my mother in my eyes,
and my father everywhere else.
You don’t see I’m a lot like you,
inside broken and badly bruised.
You don’t care to see
the parts of me that aren’t him,
because that would mean
you were wrong
and your hate was poorly placed.
But when you look at me,
you don’t see
me.

Prompt: You Don’t See Me

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