I read a poem to my dad.

He said he didn't understand.

And it was too long.

I didn't understand that.

He doesn't know big words.

He asks me the meaning.

Of that one word.

I know the word.

Even if I don't know it.

The letters arrange themselves nicely.

Neat against my tongue.

They fall out.

One by one.

Creating the sweetest of phrases.

Each scatterbrained word.

Lends itself over to me.

I turn over each letter.

Examining it nicely.

It all fits perfectly.

I've built a palace for myself.

A place for rest.

A retreat from those.

Who lack.


This poem is about: 


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