I sometimes wonder why I was made
Though I was a child, friend, or even a dear person to someone
I sometimes feel out of place, misfit
Never understood or only appreciated when convenient
Always giving, very little receiving
Always sharing, very little been shared in return
Why? Is my despairing cry
Why do I feel as though only God is by my side
I feel and they know, but think little of it
Apologies, regrets, sympathy, you name it, they give it
But it never ends
It seems to be the beginning of the end of mankind’s nature, of self

Joy Lovelet Crawford

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/despair-51/