There is a Boy
There is a boy,
He sits in the corner
And says nothing.
He does speak what he feels
For fear they will strike him down.
They will call him names.
Fag.
Gay they will call him
As if it were an insult
As if the way he was born
Was some form
Of mutation
Abomination
An alteration
Of what a human should be.
They will treat him like dirt,
But they will not step on him and walk away.
They will stomp, and jump on what is left his self-respect
Compressing him further and further
Like coal, deep into earth.
They will hand him the match
To ignite his hopes and dreams
Into fuel for the car they will drive to school the next morning.
And on that day
Like Jesus, he will carry his own cross.
Not because he has a choice,
But because the voice
That was once his
Was strangled
Before the words could even leave his mouth.
He was force-fed
And led
To believe
That he was conceived
From the Devil
His womb in the depths of hell
Where he will return
And burn
For his sins of love,
But they will rise above
For their blessings of hate.
Even after he is gone,
They will stab his sides
And lash him with a whip of nine.
But he will bleed rainbow
The colors will stream and pool at their feet
And even if they don’t see
It doesn’t matter.
He gave up his soul like bread,
And poured his love like wine.
He crossed the line
That we knew was there, but were too afraid to acknowledge
For every name they called him
Every time they beat him
He told your son, my daughter
That they are okay,
And not to be afraid.
I want to tell that little boy,
From dirt there comes flowers,
From coal there comes diamonds
And you, you are beautiful.