The boy tells me
That he’s not ready for it,
That he’s not smart enough.
He’s scared
Of the shortcomings
He’s imagined.
The boy tells me
That he can’t do it.
The other boy
Tries to convince him
To go outside with him,
But he doesn't want to.
He just hangs his head
On my shoulder,
Trying to keep his
Tear ducts shut,
But they’re leaking.
I hold him,
Trying to do something
To make him stop
Hurting.
The boy tells me
That he wants to live with me,
That his house is crazy.
I tell the boy
That life is tough everywhere.
The boy tells me
That he doesn't get it.
I tell the boy
That it’s okay,
I don’t get it either.
I never will.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem