You are young.

I can tell this,

the way your soul

throws words

on paper,

bleeding ink &

politics

like a jaded

soldier.

You are young.

I can tell this,

the way your mouth

moves too fast

for your (my) pen,

the way your

thoughts flow with harsh

taps & desperate

rhymes.

You are young.

& I am not.

I know.

I know you.

Your belief in

Your pain

is astounding; is

immeasurable; is

naïve.

You are young.

I can tell this,

in the way you

watch me

(but never seeing),

angry & defiant &

dumb.

Hush, child.

These are

my

designs, ones you

can never hear,

could never

understand

without the subtitles I

present to you.

My words sting?

Good.

Then you will learn.

You are young.

& I will teach you

Your place.