To that dear antithesis of mine,
You who are for me what I’ll never be,
You who can bring about the greatest of wonders,
You who can birth life out of love.

You who must squander your blessings,
And sell them to the highest bidder,
You who has been forced to bleed and weep,
By that same world that bore you.

You who in your struggle found freedom to live and plan,
To lose and cry, freedom to feel, freedom to try,
You whom I love like one does a champion or a hero,
Whom I cheer for like one would a ravaging fire or a raging storm.

And yet, I can only watch you from this place that saw us grow,
From my mud and pain, my wrath and defeat,
In my awe, in my grave.

As I remain for you what you’ll never be.