For the next 30 days on my YouTube channel Loving the Language of Literacy, I will be posting an original poem of mine along with behind the scenes knowledge of my inspiration, the creative process, and any other lessons / tips & tricks I have to offer.
This poem was inspired by "Full Length Portrait of the Moon" by Alice Oswald.
This poem was inspired by "Full Length Portrait of the Moon" by Alice Oswald.
Outlier
He could be any child at all;
The class president type
With a smile like ‘salutations’
And a heart of hindrance,
Or the pop culture enthusiast
Who is assumed to have nothing to say,
A voice like stepped-on broken glass when he does.
A touch always trailing after
The left impressions of
Penciled intentions
Already erased and erased
And what they think he’s after
Is you
To leave him
Alone.
He forgets he’s supposed to feel grateful
If the people who chose him
Would actually choose
To provide the care they signed for
Maybe then
The unbearable would become tolerable,
When you ask him a question
He replies flatly
Generating surprise
He expected to hear.
“Brother can you spare a dime?”
On the archaic game known as apathy
For he lost his own
Around the same time
He gave up thinking you would care,
Now you will only hear loose change
When he spends the residue of hope
And it clanks against the empty efforts
You had promised him.
You know what “children” are like;
Misunderstood. Angst-Ridden. Tired.
They carry on as they’ve been taught
Heads down the depths of disapproval
And tongues tied between
Choked on charity and
Silicon slicked slivers of ‘sorry’
As they grow into people
You wouldn’t recognize,
His story is lost
Amongst BREAKING NEWS and
Other things that matter more
But what’s the use of deliberations
When all he’s ever wanted
Is an end to the lonely.
Version Revised by Kate
He could be any child at all;
The class president type
With a smile like ‘salutations’
Or the pop culture enthusiast
Who is assumed to have nothing to say,
A voice like stepped-on broken glass when he does,
A touch always trailing after
The left impressions of
Pencilled intentions
Already erased and erased
He forgets he’s supposed to feel grateful
If the people who chose him
Would actually choose
To provide the care they signed for
Maybe then -
You know what children are like;
They carry on as they’ve been taught
Tongues tied somewhere
between choked on charity and
Silicon slicked slivers of ‘sorry’
As they grow into people
You wouldn’t recognize,
His story is lost
Amongst BREAKING NEWS and
Other things that matter more
But what’s the use of deliberations
When all he’s ever wanted
Is an end to being lonely.
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