The Reason?

The same question creeps in,
Why is it with me?
I don't know the reason,
Yet it is for me.

I try to flow with the water,
I try to flatter with the wind,
Yet I am the person
Who suffers all the clatter.

Thoughts unclear,
Chaotic surroundings,
Don't know what will happen,
Yet I say, these things doesn't matter.

Sometimes I ask,
Why me all the time?
Pat comes the reply,
"You are special, my child!"

What? Am I special?
Surprised, I ask,
Are those musings for me?
That twinge decorates my life.

Shadowing my entire life,
I try to answer these questions,
Day in and day out,
The more I attempt, the more resonates the cry:

"You are special, my child!"
"You are special, my child!"

Please don't copy this poem without my permission. It is my brain child and don't want others to use it by their names. It is morally incorrect too.