Why should I hold it in?
Is my heart an inn?
Why should I not say when I have been hurt?
Will you only learn the evil your shunning made me do when I become a member of the dreaded cults?
Why can I not cry too?
Why does my pains have to be kept mute?
Will you only see the pain in my perforated heart after I go home
Beyond this phase, transcendence into the metaphysical zone?
I am human,
Born of skin and bone
Not made of rocks and stones
I have a right to be sad.
So why will you tell me to hide my face,
Beneath the dwellings of the bed sheet
And under the railing of my own skin
Why, I still wonder why?
If you can tell me your pain
Maybe I can ease you by telling you the shame coming out to tell the world what boys suffer brings to my name.
From your friend that cares,
Your words will either mar or heal someone.
We are boys, not stones.