Celebrating 22, birthday man,
Anger’s ashes still cooling
The man he thought was dad, died when he was fifteen,
Real dad never around, never calling him son,
The kindly grandma he thought he had, now not really sure
She even knows he lives, but remembering
Her laugh, her soup after school.
We eat cake and tells stories, play guitar and laugh,
No one else in these chairs now
Behind this prison’s walls
He sings me his song.
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