I was the villain.

I was the one who commits but doesn’t notice

I was the beloved brother,

the successful son

The one who they showed him

as an example. I was the whip they used

on him to nurture

Looking at his blank expression

his unyielding face like paper

like lucid waters with no intention

even no metaphor he can retain

This is what a wrong

mirror can do

Ripping his image

from his own

self, giving him that

which he never understood

I am the villain

for making this beauty

stained by change

a change that should have

never been imposed 

by the soft hand of family.