You were a brother to me.
But you treat me like number two.
You rage to hear the truth.
So I soothe you with dumb words.
You pat yourself on the back,
To you, I’m a second-class citizen.
You’ve got your crown and gown–
Surrounded by “royal” drunks.
Invading your castle and stuff.
But I’m the “carpetbagger.”
And what did I get?
Nothing less than a cold shoulder.
I was dying inside.
Amnesia sure hit you over the head.
Thousands of tears on my soggy shoulders.
My ears clocking in hundreds of hours: Listening.
And I’m the “carpetbagger?”
I snicker now at the absurdity–
And your dirty feet walking in my thoughts.
But I’ve cleared the weeds.
I urge you to sit with a mirror in hand.
Maybe you’ll learn something.
I sure did.
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