Stem

Some stems stay near the base

Father, buys things

The mother and the brother yell at him

For buying things

The tree is sturdy but has mold

I lay near the bottom

Leave splatter the floor in slow motion

Where wind stings hurried face

He is always in a rush, father

He is always stressed

No one acknowledges it

Mother & brother say so many things

To try to make it better

For him

We all do our best

It’s hard to tell which of us is/are the black sheep

We all do our best

For him

To try to make it better

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