The Time Saver's son

I looked to the place you stood 

and imagined you strong, 

but you were made of putty, really -

malleable to a touch. As a child



I longed to push my finger 

into your middle, 

feel the give of the outer shell

and smell the pungent mush as you broke.



You never argued the toss,

just seemed to give. Questions

I asked were never answered until I quit 

asking. You loved us, sure,



but you were never truly there.

Lost to your next task,

and us ignored. You never saw

the marks on my arms, across my gut -



cut with your razor, which grew ever 

blunter, like my questions. You accused 

her of shaving, but it was me -

carving reliefs in fleshy parts 



that kept me in escape till long after

your departure. If you knew, you never 

remarked. But then you wouldn't, 

would you? That wasn't your style.



I often dream of you. How cool you seemed. 

Soft, yet hard. I miss you. Wish I could have 

gotten closer.  Kissed you. There's something 

I need to do now. Show you my scars.