About the Post

Author Information

Andrew Blitman likes to draw and write about philosophy, poetry, and science. The author of two books, he will graduate from the University of Miami in May 2014 with a Masters of Professional Science degree in Marine Affairs. If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail him at thewrittenblit@gmail.com.

The Untouchable

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.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

2 Comments on “The Untouchable”

  1. Sachin Verma May 20, 2013 at 1:50 am #

    Reblogged this on Jhankar.

    Like this

  2. immersedatlantitha June 3, 2013 at 9:16 am #

    Very strong pen! Powerful write! Thank you!
    Ann Marie.

    Like this

Express your opinion here!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 454 other followers

%d bloggers like this: