I would not strip the shirt off my again for many individuals,
however for my brother, I’d.
And no, I don’t know find out how to sew,
however I’d be taught for him.
If he wanted footwear,
I’d stroll barefoot over gravel,
my ft bleeding,
nonetheless asking if he needed me to hold him.
If he was hungry,
I’d peel him my final orange.
He in all probability doesn’t comprehend it,
but when I noticed him breaking down,
I’d use the stitching abilities I simply discovered
and sew him again collectively—
even when I needed to pull thread from my very own pores and skin.
My brother isn’t just my blood.
He’s half of me.
Part of me I’d by no means commerce.
For him, I’d give the whole lot.
I’d pour out all the sunshine inside me,
even when it left me empty—
even when it made me nothing—
so long as he by no means felt alone at evening.
As a result of I beloved him earlier than he had a reputation.
