Mother

Red ardent lips ignite a passion of makeup in the young boy,
Porcelain skin,
Shiny blue eyes
that is the reflection he wishes to see
as he writes his name on the imaginary lit up marquee
he is a star

Mother comes in,
Then comes the box
Darkness
No sounds
Oxygen fades
Is this okay?

Breath
Fresh air
He breathes again
& through all the beating, the box and the pain
The boy is star
So why
Oh why
Mother can you not see
the real
real
me

. . .mother please. . .