A Poem My Son Has Lived
It’s a quiet front
No outward battlescars to see
He bows his head for some relief
The noise around him is too much
The words cannot find their way out
And what he feels is strangled
Trying to express itself
Confidence is a distant dream
For what can you believe in when you cannot speak it?
He struggles to see what we see
And innocence surrounds his perceptions
The real fight is quiet
It’s inward and painful
Joy reaches up to escape,
But, is it real?
Well, he let’s it ride in is back pocket
To test it out.
But it must not speak
His eyes are youthful, exuberant at times
But always carrying sorrow
He must learn to love himself first
In order to break free
My heart sees you, son
You are not the forgotten one
Your spirit is the beholder of wonder
Tomorrow, son. Tomorrow is coming.
You WILL break free.
- Please see the link below for my article describing
this misunderstood learning disorder