When I Was Twenty

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.

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