His card opens and closes, singing
Happy Birthday to him in the
Other room. He's six today.

I walk over to him, as he sits
In the darkness;
The hanging air as black as his skin.
I sit next to him in a hug:
"What's up kiddo?"
He replies with, "I like the singing"
But underneath the words, all
I hear is his voice from days ago,
"I don't like my skin. It makes me --

unloveable."

"I like the singing too, how about
We go play with your new Legos?"
His face lights up with a brightness
Only his dark tone could contain.
"Let's do it big brother!"
I tell him I love him.
I tell him I think he's beautiful.

His six short years, filled with more
Pain than I'll ever know.

I'm just glad he's mine.