It’s Awful Outside

I watched him want it so much
as his anticipation seized him
His hope, palpable
But they all walked on in their twos
and threes
Leaving him there, waiting
for the invitation to join them
that never came.

And my heart broke
because no invitation could rival
theirs, and theirs would never come
not this time, or the next

So, the pursuit was about the
the hope, about acceptance
about waiting for Godot
And I, the one who knew
that pain, watched
helplessly yet again
as he craved things beneath him–
as he craved them–
as he craved.

And as he grows up,
he will learn that
many whom he did not see
craved him.


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