The burden 

A short, unfinished piece started by me remembering my father saying “you’re not my son, so don’t act like one”.

Our sons, our brothers

Placed on a pedal stool before they could sit

Already perfect and complete.

Not allowed to falter

And failures considered growth.

Safe to go, wear, love as they see fit.

The world opened to them,

Open for the taking –  they can take it.

So they take and they take.

Our fathers and uncles,

Telling us all of their burden.

The men who upped.

Yet how they forget

The backs that cracked

And the bellies that split in two

To give them the world.

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