fragile: handle with care | a short poem


Who. … in here is not emotionally damaged?
You.
See, blanketed by his anguish,
I’m only trying to speak his language
Hoping that
in nine years I’m someone he can hang with,
Right. Cramped between his older brother and his parents
Outward appearance? Candid
but deep inside his soul’s dirtier than the New York sewers, rancid
Thinking highly of himself we’re waiting to say that he just landed
Trust me I swear that he’s no bandit
Time is now measured by the bandwidths
All the advice that I have handed,
Cats live nine lives and he’s jogging out of chances
Maybe it is my fault, the respect that I demanded
Who in here is not emotionally damaged?

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