I feel like you now, and it hurts--
this pencil's shadow is ashamed.
Why did you yell like that?
When I was six,
was seven
was twelve
seventeen, eighteen.
Where to place the blame?
On you, the bottle
your small origins
your father,
gone before you could read.
That poor woman, your wife
her smile flattened for how long now?
You try and guess who I am
who I've become
who I will be.
The answer
not you.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
I feel like you now, and it hurts--
this pencil's shadow is ashamed.
Why did you yell like that?
When I was six,
was seven
was twelve
seventeen, eighteen.
Where to place the blame?
On you, the bottle
your small origins
your father,
gone before you could read.
That poor woman, your wife
her smile flattened for how long now?
You try and guess who I am
who I've become
who I will be.
The answer
not you.
