Broken Home

Ah...looking at old relics

I say that they’re sad

With their sweat stained t-shirts

And their too thin paychecks

 

But I’m just starting to see

That maybe

My parents

 

Who have nice houses

And jobs

Who pretend that having a teenager

Is so much fun

 

Who cry when the other isn’t there,

And smile when I ask what’s wrong

 

Are the sad ones