It was
you
and me, brother
then and still is
now.
Except you're taller than I
remember.
Except you don't need me
anymore.
You were six for three years
while I was nine and ten
and eleven.
And we hated it all together. And we made it
together, without
them
while they were busy: hatingdrinkingdruggingdyingfucking
laughingleaving
with everything but
us, alone.
Then you were eleven, not me
and we moved again.
And we played in the rain.
Do you remember
the rain?
Do you remember how we played
While the gray clouds kept colliding. No
Don't.
Forget the sky
Forget the day
But the rain remember
Our rain.
again again again they changed
but it was always the same
as before.
Mom is dad dad is mom mom is dad dad is mom.
I was sixteen
or something
and you were growing your hair out long.
We'd laugh each night
through the dinner I'd make for three.
Just us two.
We were always laughing.
Now you're sixteen, almost
not me
and your own you
without me
for the first time. It's hard
without you.
Grown up and growing
into everything
they never were.
Someone I'm proud of
So proud of.
Someone who came from
you and me. Products of ourselves
not
of
them
not of the environment.
mom is dad is mom is dad is mom is dad is mom
Never believe you are them.
you
are
you and I
am
me.