Fists

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I grew up with my older brother for my dad

He would make sure I ate

And that I was fast asleep when I was little

When he got older we rough house

Pile drivers, full nelsons, kicks, punches

My brother taught me how to fight

I was in 3rd grade when we played football

When the ball broke my finger

He told me to keep throwing

My brother taught me how to fight pain

My brother taught me how to swing my fists when my love hit me

My brother taught me how to not flinch when my love had the upper hand

My brother never taught me how to leave a boy

My brother never taught me how to yell no so loud, my love's mother would hear me through her son's hand

My brother never taught me what abuse looked like

My brother never taught me how to let the words slide off my back and throw words off my tongue so fast that they'd slice my love

My brother never taught me how to ask for help

Because why would I need help?

He equipped me with two strong fists and waterless eyes

Because as long as I could fight

Nothing was wrong.

My brother never taught me what to do when my love breaks all my fingers and tells me to keep throwing.

It couldn't hurt that bad... Right?

 

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