Decades of battle
Have left me a legacy of feeling small.
I’m only asked to show up when you fall.
A holster for your pain
It’s slung at me, trashed in my face:
Whose the Abel to this Cain.
An ocean of wails,
labeled evil in a projected ruse to boost your confidence,
I was bred to internalize incompetence.
My pain has a heartbeat but no home-
Numb with longing, an incessant prickling of still alone
No holster to shelter it, lightening isn’t always grounded.
Unleashed like a bullet, I saw my Anger melt into Grief when pounded.
Do I still stand behind your shadow-
How do you reconcile with my insides hallowed.
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