his silence and
sadness are synonymous.
he spends his afternoons
looking out his window,
at the old man two houses down
who used to sit outside with his wife,
but now sits alone.
and he wonders if anyone will ever love him
that much.
he won\'t look at the clouds
but he\'ll draw them,
and he won\'t leave his room
until the old man is in bed
but then he\'ll light a cigarette
in the backyard,
where the girl next door
turns on her stereo
and dances around with her best friend.
he will crane his neck,
looking to the night sky
thinking that if Earth were a canvas
then he was just an ink stain
that God forgot to remove.
and of all things
i wish i could prove to him
that he is worth
so much more