Scratching Past

Like a hen searching for worms
I keep scratching this road I tread on
Not once I have gone back
Quite unsure where I dropped the person
I used to be

Sometimes I sit on my tracks
Fatigued by the futile pursuit
Of something I’ll never find
I bend once more scratching through
The filth
Of a past that has lamed my present

Questions flood my mind
Like,
When did you know you’re a man?
Who told you you’re a man?

And I’m reminded that age alone
Isn’t enough to assure one
He is a man
Fathers tell sons they’ve grown to men
But how do you know when such talks
Eluded your conversations
That was merely warnings and Instructions?

My nails have split
Each on its own way
Nails that chose to decay
Rather than to face the hostility of my fingers

And I scratched till my fingers bled
Just to find reasons enough to face tomorrow
But all I got were reasons
For me to forever cower in sorrow

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