Sixteen hours of waiting, and I haven’t showered, haven’t slept, slumped in these plastic chairs with no hope of understanding how someone could be filled with so much hate—in their fists and their feet—blows fall, kicks land—a whole group of them out of control—and you, my precious boy, bearing that weight, curled up and crying in an alley somewhere, all heart, all spirit, all joy, and I don’t know how the world got so screwed up or maybe it was always this way, full of this stupid fear, stupid hate, stupid ignorance, but you are song and light and you are written in love and it’s not about them. It’s about you. Coming back to me.
Notes
After “I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.