My yawn is your yawn.
I came to know it too well
In my twelfth year-
You would stand up
On late summer nights
With your heaven reaching arms
And let loose a bellow,
Tinged with just slightly too much
Exaggeration,
Accompanied by the same liturgy
Of silly names and unkept promises
Which I also carry on
Along with your last name,
Even while rejecting the stakeholder.
They say parents can see themselves in their children.
Well, I suppose a reflection works both ways
And here I am.
Trapped,
On the other side of the mirror
Clawing for something blunt enough
To break the glass.
Break the glass
And walk away,
Leaving this shattered visage
Half sunk in the sand.