It always sounds lovely
to make a grown man cry.
But I recoil at his sadness,
when he sees the blood
of wounds he never cared to pack.
Paramnesia;
We all make mistakes.
We all deserve a little grace.
A ghost, maybe a mother
or a sister, says,
“No, child, keep screaming.”
But once I say it, I don\'t mean it.
Once I raise my hand,
I\'m the hitter.
I raise my voice, and I\'m the man.
Maybe that’s why I sob
when I push the words out.
I want to be a baby.
I don’t want to be like him.