as a boy, he never had much chance
his older brothers were all a bit too brilliant
and he was left with that, you know
black curls and and an exciting look
handsomeness beyond his age
and at times, a sort of silly humor
fancied mostly by the ladies caught up in his dark, enticing gaze it’s a rather dull story about a pretty boy forced to love himself turned fast into a father who never understood his children
(he never tried, but managed to keep them apart)
he never learnt to say I’m sorry but instead
“alright, my mistake, kill me, won’t you, if that will change anything!” He wasn’t a bad lad, you know, and he did have so much love to give if only he would learn how to offer it
-to the daughters who sought his attention and never got it
-to the sons who hated the idea of resembling the image of a man turned gray -to the wife he easily put behind his ego
-to the friends he dispelled with his vapid jokes
but it’s too late to learn it now, isn’t it?
He does know how to blame anyone
but himself
after all, it’s never his fault
-neither that he loves the image withering in the mirror -nor that he doesn’t know that he has been so much in the wrong. After all, he’s never wrong,
it’s never his fault
isn’t he lucky to never find out
how he hurt everyone he claims to love with
nothing else
but his own self-love.