Terence, my brother, never faced
any competition,
how could I compare as a son
to both of our parents,
even if I became the Pope,
my brother was their son.
As the first-born son to parents
from Nairobi, Kenya
people saw my older brother
as my father's best friend,
perhaps I didn't have a clue,
couldn't see past the tears,
left as a scapegoat to punish,
I faced my role as bleak,
even if I played the misfit,
as a child I was lost,
only by facing past trauma
could I accept the pain
forgotten, suppressed and repressed
in the mind of a boy.
Hope was not a feeling I felt,
neither was happiness,
if I felt anything, I felt
confused, lost and unloved,
second-born is always silver,
never gold, a winner.
Even if I was a winner
in a cross-country race,
yes, it happened my sophomore year,
but no one ever knew,
even then, I could not compare,
he was their superstar.
No comments:
Post a Comment