Here's to the lonely pale boy who talked to me about how his heart
was too wide for anyone to carry.
To the lonely angel who smiled and shrugged at pain,
and looked away when humiliation made its way through his bones.
Let's all join our hands and pray for the single person who needs it the most,
let us pray that he can shake his shame off his shoulders,
that he can still look at love in the face and scream
that he is not afraid anymore.
Here is to the lonely boy who opened up to me that night,
whose words felt like apologies, whose tears felt like knives,
he talks to me like he is a sin,
Like this is a sin.
To the lonely boy who broke his own heart and slashed his own soul,
the day he realized that the lover in his poems wasn't a "she",
but a "he".
YOU ARE READING
My loved ones; a journey.
Poetry“Perhaps one did not want to be loved, as much as to be understood” George Orwell.
