trying to
thread the needle
of explaining
to an eleven year old
that love is real
while barely able
to get out of bed
because the world
is a series
of pains inflicted.

fake a smile
whisper a benediction
that he never knows
the sting of rejection
that he doesn’t plan a future
that ends up
as little more than smoke
that he doesn’t find the one
he dreamt tirelessly of
only to have them leave.

leaving the room
to let the sobs
that choke you out
before you can go on
all with the knowledge
that it is no one’s fault
but my own
that i wasn’t worth it
that dreams are just that
nothing is the only guarantee.

i keep my face
turned away
so he doesn’t see the tears
as i explain
that one day
he will find the one
only for him
to make a face
and go back
to playing video games.

some of us are just
stepping stones
picnic areas
on the path
to true joy
but he doesn’t need
to hear that
he can keep his dreams
until life wrings the truth
into the light.