Everyone said I was too mean.
Too cruel, too demanding.
That I didn't do enough
and forced others to do 
what I was supposed to.

Maybe they were right.
Maybe I pushed everything onto somone else.
But I did so so my siblings
could say they helped with chores
and wouldn't get punished.

I ask them to take Bella on a walk.
To sweep the floor, to do the litterbox.
While I stayed at the desk,
typing until my fingers bled
and I was crying.

Then I'd go upstairs for a bit.
To calm down, to reassure myself that I could do it.
I come downstairs and my father
is playing a game with my three siblings
while they laugh at another kill.

But it's fine, right?
I've played against them before.
Besides, they hated when I played
because I'd single-handedly 
beat them all.

I would go back into the computer room.
I would distract myself from their gleeful shouts.
My tears didn't feel so unwarranted then, 
but didn't I deserve it?
It was the pettiest thing, so
why was I in tears?

Jon would win a match.
Emily would quit.
Then I'd join in and beat Dad,
Meredith, and Jon.
I would laugh too as I got another headshot,
another kill.

I didn't feel so left out when I won.