That Guy
He stands with a straight spine that bolts out of his back like jagged knives.
His eyes burn into yours. They light like fire turning yours to ash.
His Australian accent leaves a bitter taste, but flows like honey.
“Grow up...grow up like me.”
But you haven't grown. But I don't want to be like you.
“Don't hide your accent. Show it.”
But I don't want to. I want to fit in with the rest.
“Have children when you grow.”
But who said i want to create more like me? What if they mess up like….or worse than me..?
But the words don't stop.
They continue.
They create.
They try to conform and convert.
Copyright © Amber De Maio | Year Posted 2016
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