It must have been hard for you,
To watch me grow up soft.
Oversensitive child, crying too oft,
Never as tough as what you would choose.
To you, to be a man is to be hard;
It’s what you were taught, there’s no other way.
So to sensitive me you could not relate;
Teaching me control was not in the cards.
My feelings, your bewilderment,
Childhood pressure cooker
Leads to adolescent metamorpher;
The perfect heat treatment.
Now I’m Moh’s perfect ten,
A chip off the old block,
And the ticking of the clock
Counts down till my heart fragments.