The Shape in the Stone

Each day I chisel

The rough surface of this rock,

Trying to find the

Sculpture. I chip off

The words I don’t want to say,

“I don’t feel close to

You right now,” “I take

Pills to make life bearable,”

“If I could run, I

Would.” Another chip.

“I know you sense the dread in

Me, but haven’t the

Words to express it.”

“My best days are behind me.

They flew past while I

Was waiting for some

Validation that didn’t

Come. There is less of

Me each day.” I would

Rather die with these words not

Said, than hurt any

Of you. Alas am

I fated to wound you to

The core. Chip, chip, chip.

Brothers

I trigger you and

You trigger me. We compete

And re-enact our

Parent’s drama. You

Are jealous of me, lash out.

I am stung, speak true

Vitriol, withdraw,

To rehearse the battle, time

And again. I swear

To never speak to

You, but crave your amusement

At my wit. I want

You to accept me,

But you can’t, because I am

What you are not. I

Am wise in ways that

You can’t be, and diminish

You by my presence.

We are not equals.

I am better. And so when

I offer you my

Warm embrace, you spurn

It, and power trip with your

Dubious stolen

Authority. I

Want you only to act like

A person, but you

Can only bully

And escalate. I withdraw,

Seek to shame you with

My silence. I make

Myself bigger and stronger

And louder and more

Proficient, useful

By the world’s standards, but

To no avail, still

You reject me. I

Cannot be other than what

I am. I am wise,

Articulate, well

Loved. A good brother would cheer

Me, not feel upstaged.

This becomes dusty

Death, another loss for me

To grieve, you won’t pull

Me down with you. I

Am alive and free and light.

A star, I must shine.