There's a boy in my bed.
The bandage on his arm
makes me afraid to hold him,
or to let him hold me.
I'm afraid to hurt him
or to cause him any more pain
than life has given him.

He's not handsome,
Not an amazing lover.
He's made bad choices in his life.
And some are his fault,
some were forced on him.

But I like him
and he whispers that he loves me
when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
I don't want to lie to him
I'm not sure if I love him.
But I love it when he's the boy in my bed.