A Soldier, Doll, Prodigy, and Bulletproof Vest
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My father is a soldier, he's strict and observant,
he draws out maps of where my brother and I went wrong.
and corrects us on every single tiny
mistake.
My mother is a Barbie Doll, arms and legs twisted in
multiple directions,
Hair ripped out from stress,
Facial Features slowly fading with time.
My brother is a prodigy, my parents child,
filled with homegrown intellect, he's almost invincible,
He waves his magic wand around with
utter simplicity.
But then there's me, a violated bulletproof vest,
already penetrated by everyone's bullets,
no longer usable but somehow effective at
reflecting the ammo.