(_-_-_)
expect hard work to shape you. expect the day to day to shape you. expect fear and love and worry to shape you expect mothers and fathers to shape you, expect teachers and life to shape you. jumbled up twisted so tight your finger tips are eager, they gnaw at the hem of your sleeves. worrying anxious you twist forefinger to thumb till it becomes raw burned from tension. provoke me damn it. and the wretched root will bite into you. deeper its twisted form borrows its way past all your mistakes and loves. all of your sloppy muddled ghosts of memories. sit there like a stick stabbed into mud. it stands erect. splintered and frail. gray death like fingers. snap.