Self Portrait as A Middle Child

Some days my breathing is fluid,
sliding in and out of my body as
if I am a fish underwater.
The responsibility placed on me
by my father floats in and out of
my mind gill-like. One
breath in, I am given another
task. One breath out and I am
sent gliding in the deep blue
sea  like a grouper no  like a
guppy.
I sit small in my father's eyes.
The air pump meant to fill
tires of beach cruisers has
found its way into the lambent
ocean I call home. The weight
given me by my Father seems
more toxic than the pounds
of plastic floating in my ocean.
Watch as my fins give out, stop
moving. Watch as my body twirls
upside down from the absence
of air. Watch as my gills create
bubbles instead of safety. Watch
as I crumble from the weight of
too many expectations and not
enough wiggle room. Watch as
my small body floats buoyant

without life.