• maynahthewriter 6w

    By unknown writer

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    For Junior

    I know that you struggle to see through the lenses of your own imperfections,
    A ruffled collage of everything you are not,
    For what grace does it bring a man to carry on his shoulders;
    The badges of honour,
    When he can sit them down beside him?

    I see the easy fidget of your fingers,
    When they touch something they love,
    A simple caress, shock, stop and return,
    Birthed out of perplexity.
    But on those anxious days do great relief come,
    With giant placards screaming that you are enough,
    That you are a soul that need not strive for happiness,
    And need not prove to be worthy of love.