Oh, Brother

Some days I convince myself
I am the sixth meaning of “fink”
on Dictionary.com.

A contemptible or throughly unattractive person.

What is beautiful about a quiet,
solitary, contemplative heart,
unsure why she lost herself
by way of nagging expectation?

Who has thrown a few pity-party,
derogatory terms: dumb, stupid,
idiot toward herself a time or two?

No. I’m lying. Everyday.

Then, he walks by,

“There’s Julia,
she’s made of burgers,
serving up Christ pie,
a message of love to all nations.”

Or, another poem/rap similar.

I start to laugh,
crying joy
stinging forgiveness
I keep saying I don’t deserve.

I see the truth in his eyes,
twinkling as a distant star.

You are known.

Author’s Note: Over the last few days, I’ve witnessed my brother create poems/raps about me. It amazes how much has changed about our relationship. When I was younger, I would scream and cry because his humor wasn’t funny. At all. I used to punch him over calling me Betsy the Cow. Don’t ask, but I’m sure it’s where he’s come up with me being made out of burgers.

The difference between then & now: I don’t get angry (or punch. Sorry, Nolan. I should have used my words.), but laugh to the point of tears. One thing God has been showing me through my brother is I take myself way too seriously. I don’t want to let myself or anyone else down. That doesn’t leave any room for laughter or joy.

I don’t want to make this entirely about me. I think the poem may be, but I wanted to show how talented and humorous my brother is. Even if the humor is directed at being made out of burgers. Or Christ pie šŸ™‚ I love you, Nolan ā¤

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2 thoughts on “Oh, Brother

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