works with his hands
brings truth from frustration
corrupts self by finding faults in others
kills the best of possible care
with my hands
i have tried to equal his merits
i am meager
with no one to hold my head from flailing
i try and steady my aim at my self imposed
whoredom
with his arms stretched to the pale sky
reenacts his false christ
he relies on the pity of family
spends time on the oral history of martyrs
with my cross
inverted towards my family tree
i am without accountability
i am much more than yr memories
i am worth more than my history
peter spoke untruths at least three times
i will lie so much more than he ever did
this is not mine to erase
lest we forget the intangibles.
