I am a Real Boy

Luciano Salem Dumola

I scream to a god

that they say has no pity for me.

Glass polluting my throat as I ask

how many times will he break my heart

until I succumb to the anxiety

of a life cut short?

I feel the jagged pieces in my mouth and

on my tongue,

tasting thick cold blood

as I say their names

over three hundred times.

They say they’ll kill me out of panic

because they believe that

I am not a real boy.

My mind on my life

as I wake up every morning

to forcefully break

every rib inside my body; using

the agonizing pain as a form currency.

Paying for the comfort and

the confidence to say yes,

I am a real boy.

Each dotted scar on my body is a statement

to a seemingly merciless god

that says I am a real boy.

Made in his image turned to

fixed by my own hand.

My mind on my death

I learn how to throw a punch

to take a punch

to scream as loud as my lungs will allow

and run as fast as my feet will carry me.

It would be a lie to say that

I am not afraid to be

a real boy; watching

my brother’s and sister’s lives

be ripped away by

people who say they panicked

at the sight of them.

Please god who loves everyone but us,

don't let me fall on a forgotten headline because I will

take your punch,

whether it be from your mouth,

or your fist, or

something small and lead black;

because I refuse to be anything but

what I’ve always been, and what I am,

Is a real boy.