: About Me

To a Good Man The evening is over, the battle un-won, The mother's been punished for raising their son, "You're weak, ineffective, reaping what you've sewn, He's arrogant, good for nothing and the fault is your own." Their daughter swoops in, aching to right The grievous wrong, the needless spite, He watches her, veins searing with vitriol, Placating them, with all her heart, all her soul. Catching sight of his wrath her ribcage contracts, He's choosing a quality he knows that she lacks To silence her. Why must it unfailingly be That the judgment that hurts is the one she believes? Her sis...