I
It is your birthday
The drool stains on your shirt have not dried yet
Your jaw hangs slack from the weight of the ******
You remove the red tissue paper from the blue gift bag
Blue is your favorite color
When the paper is in your hand
It mocks the texture of your skin

II
I used to be afraid of those hands
They used to move
Until I hung slack from the weight of your terror
I promised myself
that anger
Will never carry out through our bloodline
I lose myself some days
Trapped in the process of patience

III
You never needed me to forgive you
Cleaning up your blood is forgiveness enough
I am humbled by the weight of your helplessness
Forget the fear you caused me
The window you threw me through
The constant tests to keep my hands in my pockets
To be the better man
Forget that today is your birthday
Your memories have smashed
From the weight of this disease

IV
You pull out a pair of pants
And some t-shirts
You probably don’t want them
But you need more
“Oh,” you say.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yep. Yep. This is good,” you say.

V
I finally forgive you
For everything
Because at some point
I promised myself to become
A good man

“Happy Birthday,” I say.