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.

Quench

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.