Down Goes The Rivalry Poem by Maggie Brooks

My immaturity ripped me a new one.
It made me angry, upset, frivolous, and jealous.
I hated my mother, my father repulsed me, and my brother annoyed me.
The shower was never warm enough.
The house was never cold enough

My immaturity wrote my past, present, and future.
It made me restless at night and stuck in the morning.
It made me hate the color pink, think Santa was boring, and backpacks would never sit quite comfortably.
It made me.

I hated my immaturity for it loaded me with my worst parts.
The want to grow up came too soon, much before any growth.
Then finally I sat down in a sea-sick green armchair in the hospital and, sighed.
My brother was dying.
What a waste.

My immaturity went with him.
An only child in a three-bedroom house.
With the dog who sleeps, a mother who wails, and a father who drinks.
It's not the same anymore.

When I went to school, immaturity stared at me.
It spread like a virus seeping into anyone in my contact.
My English teacher assigned me books without death.
My Math teacher didn't complain about my late work.
My friends kept their distance.

What a waste, what a waste to lose a brother who you resented.
My immaturity didn't apologize to him instead, it wept.
Weighty tears to the ponds, rivers, oceans.
My immaturity was not my own.