the old ladies say "what a sweet little boy he is,"
sandy hair and emerald eyes.
such a sweet child,
the little boy lies.
the little boy lies when he says he's fine.
notice how his eyes are rimmed red- it's because he cries.
the old ladies don't see it,
no one does.
at least that's what he thinks.
that's what he thought.
i saw it and didn't get him the help he sought.
i watched as the little boy carried the rope into the forest by the village,
and i heard the scream he didn't let out when he told his mother
"i'll be back before sunset."
the little boy lied.
the boy is sad, they said
i know, i answered:
“the world wants him dead”
“i’m fine,” he’ll yell when we banter
though he knows i know he’s lying
he grew up thinking that to matter
you couldn’t show anyone your crying
and so when he’s sad, he climbs a ladder
and never promises that he’ll climb back down
and all you’d tell me was that you loved me and that i better not let anyone tell me any different
and then suddenly your hands were cold, your expression dangerously indifferent
and when i finally tore your fingers from your palm
i saw the blood and the blade and a note labeled
at least now im
nothing's gone right today.
what? there's nothing else for me to say.
nothing's right. it's all just wrong.
how much more can i take? for how long?
just get out. you wouldn't understand.
leave me be. i don't need your rough hand.
go away. get out.
click and hold your existence,
drag it to the recycle bin.
and when you're ready to live again,
just retrieve it.
if only it were this simple.
i love having you as a friend,
perhaps even more.
could we ever be more?
i've always believed love to be a trap,
but i suppose it isn't so.
i find myself imagining a future,
a future i know won't ever be.
though i catch myself thinking
"can't a girl dream?"
but that's all they are.
i feel love blossoming in my chest,
pain blooming alongside it-
-knowing you'll never feel the same way.