Brotherhood

[CRNDLSM]

I thought I was about to read something gang related.

Brotherhood

 
When the world was as tall as my rooftop,
as long as school bus rides,
a pig-nosed bully’d stamp through the neighborhood,
too tangled for friends,
his twisted hair and face.pig nosed and twisted, aren't they all?
The only way he reached out to anyone
was with a fist.
Perhaps, his mother never kissed him.of course
 
One day, I witnessed 
the bully snatch my brother by the head
and throw him like a rag for cloaking fear.I think he threw the rag subconsciously cloaking fear, but I don't know of rags to cloak fear
I charged the bully like a locomotive
toy against the wall,nice imagery
kissed his fists,
bowed to kicks
until the bully released us wrecked lumps
to stand and walk home free. 
 
Bleeding black road scraped noses colorI can string these all together without color, but color fits, maybe separate it somehow
my arm draped over my brother's 
bone bruised shoulder.

Dripping red from blows to the head
is worth the blood-shed.
I will never leave him beaten.
I’ll share the dirt instead.why the last bout of rhyme? To stand out?  Be the focus?

Has a stephen king feel to it, you know those kids always running around out there...  good work

 
Brother
 
When the world was as tall as my rooftop,
as long as yellow school bus rides down the street,
a pig-nosed bully’d stamp down the street:
pimples on his face like red sharp coral,
oily hair, uncombed and twisted,
too tangled for a friend.
The only way he reached out
to anyone
was with a fist.
Perhaps, his mother never kissed him.
 
One day, I witnessed
the bully snatch my brother by the hair,
throw him like a rag for passing by cloaked in fear.
I charged the bully like a locomotive
toy against the wall,
kissed his fists,
bowed to kicks.
 
This is the day I began
to understand the words,
"He is your brother."
 
Bored with the lumps on the ground,
the bully left into the destroying day destroying more.
 
My brother and I for the first time,
together, leaves of a vine.
And we walked home—
 
Black road scraped toes and bleeding noses
color the pride we keep.
My arm’s draped over
his bone bruised shoulder;
my crutch he’s lovingly being.
And I too am a crutch
for my beaten blood,
our bond strengthening.
Dripping red from blows to the head
is worth the blood-shed.
I will never leave him screaming.
I’ll taste the dust instead.