I’ve been trying to live

up to you,

be a man; work hard; fill boots.

Of what kind of leather? I am not sure.

I wish she loved me. (more?)

I wonder how much

hat would change

who I am.

Fragments that are never truly mine

form my mangled self;

I am no shephard

and I am no rusty pump handle.

Remember what she said So long ago?

“Look at me.”

“Take my arms.”

“You are so beautifully

normal.”