I believe my brother will grow to hurt,
to hit,
to lash out when he can't reach the words he needs.
I believe he will grow to silence as he has been silenced
And to intimidate as he was intimidated.
Loved, yes.
But loathed more.
When the money runs out love is stunted.
It can't buy happiness
but it sure helps feed the hunger,
And no one can argue being deprived of affection isn't a sort of gut wrenching starvation.

There's an ache in his eyes,
an emptiness,
and a promise that whatever fills it will hurt as he has.
He, who doesnt understand the difference between freedom and power,
Who longs for both having tasted neither
but like the starved will blindly accept either.
He is like my mother - lost.
All the lost are fearful,
and most of the fearful are violent.