I have no clue what to title this

Sometimes I feel like a defective child

One who was born normal

But turned out to be quite mild

Everyone tells me I have smarts of some sort

So tell me this then, If I’m so smart

Why do I sit like a lazy king in some fort?

While others work their asses off for me

I apparently just can’t be bothered you see.

As I write on this pencil and paper

I ask myself why I’ve done this again

I haven’t learned; will I ever?

Maybe my parents ask where they went wrong

But it’s not that; it’s me.

I’m the one who did something wrong

I don’t listen

I don’t care

And I don’t feel bad

When did this all start?

When did I have to ask myself 

“Why am I like this?”