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. 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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