It was not uncommon for me
to come home with the mocking words
of mean kids already etched on my face,
only for you to bombard me with everything
that I wasn't. It was easy to set you off
spewing the shrapnel that was your words with that
Gatling gun mouth of yours until I was shredded
on the inside. Many times you said you wished
you weren't my brother; Many times I wished the same.
After all, I was a game of Jenga to you. You amused yourself
by picking out brick after brick of my confidence
hoping that I would crumble.
So is it any surprise that I often wondered
What are brothers for?
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