Every time my mother bought me shoes that didn’t fit me,
My brother taught me what to say,
I said it fits me.
I said thank you.
My brother was trying to teach me how to understand.
Understand, is something I did before my first day in school,
Before I learnt to spell the word.
From the day I was born, my obligation has always been to understand my parents.
Understand their age,
Understand their work,
Understand their pain,
Understand the times,
Understand they don’t need to be perfect; they just need a perfect kid,
Understand I’m just a kid,
Understand that parents know everything and I’m just a kid.
Understand just because I have eyes don’t mean I have a point of view.
Understand it is challenging to have a voice and a mother who buys your innerwear at the same time.
Understand I don’t know what’s best for me,
Respect before I ask,
Actually, just respect, don’t ask.
That’s how a bomb is made.
It’s given a trigger.
Or just a little thing to pull before it explodes.
Every time children grow to become atomic bombs in the streets, in these streets,
People in the streets ask, what is wrong with you?
They don’t ask what happened to you.
What happened to us?
What happened to my brother?
The streets expect you to find your own way to become a good man,
To become somebody a parent can be proud of.
I don’t think broken children find the time to become.
They are; they just stay as they are.
I can see my brother swimming in alcohol right now and man, he’s a good swimmer.
As a matter of fact, he is no longer good on land.
He prefers to swim to keep himself from landing on his head every time he walks on land.
I think my brother died a long time ago.
I think my mother thinks my brother is living his death.
I think my brother doesn’t have poetry.
He just has a bottle in his hand.
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