Here he is-
a boy, with youth still tugging at the corners
of his lips, his laugh still sounding the same as
it did when it ricocheted off the metal poles of the
This is a photograph of him,
I explained to my hair dresser,
he with the thin nervous wrists
and long mangy hair.
People always say to “be who you are”,
but I’ve lost friends by being honest
and been told I was cool when I lied about
Boys have declared that they liked me
when they didn’t know the first thing about me,
and stopped responding to me when I asked
too many questions.
Those who once said they loved every part of me
have slipped out the door when they caught me
blubbering about being sad.
When I was a child,
I often felt alone in my own family.
I was too sensitive-
always running to my room hungry
and sobbing in the bathroom when something didn’t go as I planned.
I used to think that because I felt like an outsider
with those that had known me since birth,
no one in the world would ever be able to truly love me
once they found out who I was.
And though I’ve learned to accept myself these past few years,
I still sometimes feel the tug of that old fear, late at night,
reminding me, with memories of everyone who has run away from me,
that it might be true.