There once was a boy
Who wanted to be loved
On Earth and not from above,
Despite the fact he was an unwanted toy.
He played by himself
As the others kept distant.
When he approached, even for an instant,
They put him back on the shelf,
Ignored for another day.
He was different, so they say,
Neither a Barbie nor a Ken,
But an ugly combination then.
Too short, they report,
To be worth their while
And awkward beyond the acceptable style.
“What do you do with it?” They asked.
“It’s so gay it should have a cock up its ass”,
Said one to the boy in front of the others.
They all laughed,
Especially the ogre-ish one,
Before it was said and after it was done,
That should have been slapped by his mother.
Though he did not show it,
The boy cried for years,
As the insults battered him to tears.
“The other kids don’t want me”,
He sobs, as the blood within him throbs.
“All I want is a friend to love me”,
He cries to the nothingness from whence he came.
The kids would call him names in public without shame,
Calling him short, awkward, and gay without reprieve.
As he defended himself they would hand him the blame.
Alone and beaten he would grieve.
“Grow a thicker skin”, they said since he was five,
As he suffered at the hands of his peers
With scars in his heart that were carved by shears.
How bad it was to be alive,
He wept on the shelf
As he kept to himself
For the fear of attention
Which was only met with vocal dissension
Had only left him tattered and bruised.
The forgotten toy was only used.
Then, suddenly, after fifteen years had passed,
The toy that was shelved
Had been discovered by the grace of God
And felt all that was good within himself
Thanks to a real person, not a clod.
The figure was gifted,
Brilliant in mind and body as the odds had shifted.
He showed the boy he was in demand
With a mighty sleight of hand.
He made a trinket feel whole
As the feeling of appreciation healed his soul.
They were inseparable, the two,
As the little boy felt friendship, something new.
Too weird to be true,
He once thought,
Experiencing joy and growth that could not be taught.
But this was fated
As the boy realized he was not a toy
And jealousy swelled and left him weighted
By the envy of the gifts he never had,
That were denied by disuse.
He was filled with memories of his life as refuse,
And the fear that he was just a fleeting fad.
“All I want to be is someone’s best friend,”
As he felt second-rate
Because he could never get a date
And felt like a loser beyond repair.
Which is why he tried so hard
To prove he was special, not a retard,
So others would care.
Instead, most would only stop and stare,
Then business as usual would return
As the fire within him intensified its burn.
“But you’re not my best friend,”
Said the kid to the boy,
Who felt the sorrow engulf the joy.
The boy loved his friend to the bitter end
But could not comprehend
Why he could feel nothing requited
By the friend who made him feel invited
Like a member of his home.
The first cut is always the deepest,
The spark of something unfamiliar stirring a tempest.
Though the toy continued to reach out,
It felt that things were different without a doubt
As his attempts were instantly rejected
And all he could feel was dejected.
And so he could not feel intact,
Even around those who had made their care clear
That he was wanted as a friend and peer.
All he wanted was contact
Without pain and the feeling of shame
For being who he was,
A toy without a cause.
And so he turned to kindness
As a reason for life.
The girls still said no as he tried to stop the strife.
The years of pressure and change
Made him believe he was gay and would never have a wife
Or want one in this life rearranged.
And when he felt nothing,
He retreated to the shelf, crying,
As his pride lay dying
With the goal of ending the fight
So his happiness could take flight
From a body free of blight.
But he fought those urges
Because he couldn’t stain the shelf
Holding him in place
Through the times he was himself,
A face alone in outer space.
And so he reaches for the stars
As this world offers him little
But isolation with pain in the middle.
The cosmos are as cold as they are old,
For they are silent, not violent,
And unjudgmental as they are elemental.
So, they are fundamental.
The boy is untouchable like the sun,
And realized he always wanted to be one.