for making me see you weak
for forcing me to deal with you
and your trembling hands
your sentences that all end
with a quavering question mark
as though you are not sure if you are finished
speaking, or perhaps you simply forgot
what it is you were trying to say
I hate you for doing this
for cutting away with these dull blades
my standalone image of who you are
how your daily naps and tendencies
to wander room to room looking
for something until you cannot remember
why you stood in the first place
and it hurts deep in my bones
to see you gingerly lower yourself
like a painful porcelain
into your chair and sigh while settling in
sometimes i hate you for this
for growing old
I always said i wanted to grow up
and be like just like you
now i'm afraid, my wish will come true
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