For my brother

By the time

We were old enough to know better,

That town's biases had already taken root in our stomachs

Sprouting ugly branches and withered flowers

That needed constant pruning

To keep ourselves from becoming part of that dying garden.

 

By the time

You were confident enough to be yourself

You were already an adult

Living far away from that town,

This country,

And me.

Dad still struggles with it, and I'm sad for him.

He can't see how beautifully,

Wildly,

Desperately

You have bloomed.

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