The pinwheel is turning,
It's nice and round.
It's stained and peeling,
But doesn't make a sound.
-:-
Now I'm eleven,
And my mother just died.
I'm naturally upset,
But my dad pulled me one side.
-:-
Robert, oh Robert,
The old man sighed.
There's nothing to say,
So preserve your pride.
-:-
The wind is blowing,
And the pinwheel turns,
I have this raw feeling,
It smarts and it burns.
-:-
There's not one day
When I don't try,
To make my dad say,
You're a good boy.
-:-
I study, I work.
With much eagerness and perk.
But still he frowns,
And doesn't make a sound.
-:-
The wind is stopping,
The pinwheel slows down.
I close my eyes thinking
What do I do now?
-:-
The old man is dying,
He gives me a tut.
I hear what he's saying,
And it sticks me in a rut.
-:-
He said it, so softly,
That I barely caught,
His face was so lofty,
His breath dry, like rot.
-:-
Disappointed, he spat,
So venomous and vile.
Stinging like a slap,
Still, I kept my face mild.
-:-
Behind my façade, though,
Emotions ran wild.
I could just barely hold on,
To not cry like a child.
-:-
So for the whole of my life,
I've disappointed my dad.
No matter how I tried,
To be good and not bad.
-:-
The wind has just stopped,
The pinwheel is dead.
The bubble has popped,
And with it, goes my head.
-:-
A tear trickles out.
A/N: Just something I was scribbling. What do you think? Please review :)