…all the shoes are broken

…my baby be so fresh n’ fly-

fly like the big boys-

the ones that sit still 

and don’t slap themselves-

full of swag, raised in confidence-

so maybe he’ll use the toilet soon, right?

without the screams, right?

without throwing himself against the wall;

minus the chaos-

cause my baby so dripped out-

so he’ll wanna be a big boy, right?-

no more kickin’ holes in the wall-

havin’ someone on call to patch em’-

but be on chill mode, right?

like the big boys do, right?

but maybe the shoes are broken-

all of them-

because I’ve lost complete count-

and he be the flyest kid in the room-

but still lays down with the j’s on

and hits himself when he needs the pull-up.

rage, rage, rage.

still…

still…

still…

so I think the shoes are broken-

all of them-

every single one-

or maybe they ain’t-

none of them-

not even one-

but rather the broken one…

is me-

right? … 😞

kb