Apart from my father, no one ever
saw the boy I was, just the labels
that were slapped on me, so I was
written off:
Trouble-maker, disruptive
attention-seeker, no-hope
delinquent, weird monster,
LUNATIC.
Ears were always deaf to my
high-pitched lost-child voice
crying in fear and loneliness:
HELP.
But they didn’t
or they couldn’t
or they wouldn’t
care
because they believed
that I was beyond help
until that man looked me
full in the face, unafraid
of my demonic tantrums
not shocked by swearing
nor embarrassed by wild
eyes and foaming mouth.
I tried to look away, but
his eyes would not let go,
and the scream that rose up
in me withered as the knot that
had grown tighter every year
began to loosen and unravel.
He wrenched my fury from me
until I was an empty vessel
ready to be filled with calm.
Now I know I’m not a monster;
I am just a boy who could grow up
to be a man like him.