I wish I was big.
20 Stories high.
Then you couldn't see through me, even if you tried.

With that I could,
Block you inside,
Of the town that, over the years, you've grown to despise.

Your concealer soaked face,
Will grow sad.
When the locals stop pitying the stories about your dad.

I'd pick you up,
With a crushing grip.
Say the things I've wanted to say.
Boast and quip.