Ian.

 

D

O

W

N

the concrete

stairs

 

I tell mom I was jump-roping.

Really, I just wanted to die.

Throwing myself to the ground,

best form of suicide

for an eight year old.

 

Great way to start out a poem, right?

This one isn’t about me though.

 

Fasten

your

seatbelts.


 

I come home,

he’s sitting on my bed.

He's waiting for me.

A smile

across his face

Hi” I return

 

3 years old,

he's never spoken.

But we get each other.

He hugs me.

 

The silence

loud

with compassion.

Something

a 3 year old

can comprehend.

 


 

Fasten

your

seatbelts.

 

I’m thirteen.

 

Mom and Dad,

 

whispering

talking

yellling

screaming,

fighting.

 

Stereotypical poetry.

“Abusive parents

yada yada

blah blah blah.”

They aren’t the point.

 

He’s eight,

but so much stronger.

He has aspergers,

but is so underestimated.

 

“It’s okay,

they always stop.”

He’s impervious

to their toxicity

 

Fasten

your

seatbelts.

 

I’m sixteen

I’m sitting on a hill.

Summer is here.

Scars revealed

in the sunlight.

 

This isn’t what I’m trying to say.

 

I see him,

eleven,

crying,

quiet.

 

I know the kids at school

I know what they say

 

“Retard.”

“Stupid.”

“Fatass.”

 

But he pretends he doesn’t hear

Just like with Mom and Dad

He's impervious

to their toxicity.

 

I ask him to talk

but

just as always

he only speaks

when he has something to say.

 

“Its okay,

they always stop.”

 

Fasten

your

seatbelts.

 

I’m seventeen.

Driving around

the same route as always.

Looking for my last ounce

of courage.

Finding none.

 

I think about him.

I think about

how horrible

humans are

how horrible

they treat him

how horrible

it is

to see him

take it

with all his might.



 

How horrible I am

to sit in my car

giving up my life

when he’s struggling

beneath the tires.

 

Unfastened

my

seatbelt.

This time

it didn’t stop.

 

CRASH

I want to die.

I drive my car

into a pole.

 

But that’s not what this poem is about.

 

It’s about him.

How brave he is

no matter how disadvantaged.

At thirteen

he is

the smartest

the kindest

the strongest

person I know.

How when I was in the hospital afterward

he pretended he was

impervious to my toxicity

and still hugged me anyway

just like when we were three and eight

Its about how

he is the reason

I will always

Fasten

my

seatbelt.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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