When you were twenty,
I was twelve. Awkward through middle school.
You lived in a frat house in Miami,
thousands of miles away from us
Leaving me stranded, an only child
to our parent’s who continued to
bring me to church, sit across from
me and stare blankly as we eat, missing
my male sibling counterpart.
When I was twenty,
you were twenty-six, a law student living with Mom.
I used my trust fund to pay for undergrad
while you spent your loans on lego cars and cross-bows.
You said my occasional drinking was childish,
and disrespectful, given the circumstance.
So, I grew up, I left you and mom
to blankly stare across the table.
At twenty, I needed a brother
not another dad.