I wish my parents
My brothers
My friends
Asked real honest questions
Even sincere small talk
About what I'm working on, would do
I always notice when they do not.
Carefully checking it off in the peak of my brain
And I'll later feel resentment
Later, more at me than them
"Why. Why do I harbor that?"
As if ammunition in the gun to my own head
For later use.
And the ****** up thing
Is I know the truth
But can't you see?
Can't you be happy for me
But really
It just doesn't matter that much to them
Is the sad but real truth
(Which I get, to an extent)
But my God
We are a selfish crew
But look,
With long lean hands
I could flip through a photo album
So they could see, understand, believe, and love
The memories I've made

But they seldom do.

Then again
I could and need to do better too.