by BRANDON B
Dear father,
I’m writing to you because it’s evident that I’ve been discarded,
I once was a clean sheet of paper that has now been tainted by your absence
but as of, and since then,
I wonder if I’ve been on your mind, does the thought of me inhabit you at any given time
“ugh what’s my line?!”
I’ve been through this rehearsal even though it hurts still to know you disowned me
To think my blood brother, by a different mother, helped me be a better man than you
Young Lil’ Brandon had thoughts of arson to all thoughts of you,
My abler to be alive, not father, but manufacturer me a delicate machine
With only one mission more determined than Akeelah striving to win that bee, When you incoherently stabbed ‘n yanked out the heart of lil’ ole me
That empty space filled with hatred, stronger than a Jew had whenever they saw a Nazi,
Constantly wonder how could he, he of all not see, the talent bestowed upon me, My endower my self-esteem lower
Chopping up my letter n sanctuary of false memories hoping we could work this out are now under a lawn mower wait lemme lay them here n blow them about.
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