Care | Communication | Compassion | Death | Lost | Poetry | Youth

THE POEM
He always wanted to explain things./But no one cared.
So he drew.
Sometimes he would draw and it wasn’t anything.
He wanted to carve it in stone or write it in the sky.
He would lie out on the grass and look up in the sky.
And it would only be him and the sky and the things inside him that needed
saying.
And it was after that he drew the picture.
It was a beautiful picture.
He kept it under his pillow and would let no one see it.
And it was all of him./And he loved it.
When he started school he brought it with him.
Not to show anyone, but just to have with him like a friend.
It was funny about school.
He sat in a square brown room.
Like all the other rooms.
And it was tight and close./And stiff.
…