Elliott Wilco

A mother has just had a newborn child. The cheating doctors and chiding nurses coddle around the room. Their movements reminding the mother of chickens with their heads cut off. Her child is severely deformed. Saddening by the fact that the little man is a disappointment made by a volatile romance. Her drinking habits were atrocious while the young one inside suffered for days on end. The baby, just a boy, had many holes filling up his being. His body was almost translucent when put in the light and his eyes so sensitive were almost never seen by others. They hid behind obsidian black glasses.

The boy grew older to meet school classes where the people didn’t love him. The year was 1934 and acceptance was just a lie in fairy tales. He was different. That made it okay for people to criticize what he was. The boy was a simple retard with the most complex thoughts. People were blind to the fact that someone different could possibly match their talents. This made the boy severely depressed. He would walk home and sit alone for hours in his room. No tears would be shed but his hands would ferociously write on paper. He’d create poems from the bubbling words in his head that would not go. Slowly the holes in his body seemed to disappear and his confidence would
grow.

The boy would enter school again to be ridiculed.

“What’s your problem, kid? Your appearance disgusts me!” The words slew out in a derogatory slur.

“Well your arrogance repulses me!” The little boy had a piqued response back.  

Over and over the people would get meaner. But the boy kept on existing because he wrote a story for himself. The story had him as the leader while the rest would suffer. This unrealistic dream would be converted into something beautiful as the boy realized that the world needed awareness not cruelty. All the pain that the little man felt would always fuel his passions and desires. He would prevail over the others! He needed to make a change.

The eclectic, eccentric, and pained are the ones who cause change. The boy knew that he needed to shock a crowd with his poem. He tirelessly wrote for days until his masterpiece was completed. The next day in class, he stood at the very front and spoke. His words were humble, solemn, and meaningful. He laid his heart down for all to see.

The class was no longer laughing but they were crying. Crying tears from the emotion of the speech. There stood a teacher, stoic and composed. The class continued to whine and snivel. Fright in her eyes, the teacher, Mrs. Smith stood. Trembling to the front of the class, she excused the boy.
When the boy entered class again the next morning cheers could be heard from every mouth. He was a hero to the misunderstood. Once people understand each other, the ugly world becomes something beautiful. Being who you are is worth a million more than falling under peer pressure. The boy smiles to himself. He is finally worth something. The more he succeeded, the more the holes on his body started to close. The more wisdom he spread let his skin become fuller.

He was able to make his story complete.
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Poem from a boy with holes in his heart

I don’t matter
Why don’t I matter?
What am I?
Help me.
Tell me what I am
Tell me why I am
I don’t believe that I exist
No one sees me
I’m see through
You can’t hear my thoughts
They’re hidden inside my mind
And that scares me
My body iridescent
It shines
Letting in light
While showing off my intestines
My bones are cold
They are shown
Whitest of white
They hold my secrets in
But people admire
People stare at the sight
They can’t believe their eyes
A freak has been brought to the surface
They see through me
There are no more secrets
Silly laughter erupts from a bumbling crowd
I make a fool of myself
Amusing am I
Cool and collected
Wanting to be free
My body glows
Clear
It’s clear
There is no respect for it
No out layer of protection
I wonder why it is missing
I’m dumb struck that so many people see inside me
They thought that they knew me
But they can’t see inside my mind
I get lost looking at my hands
How they’re translucent
Nothing can be held
Or tenderly caressed
My fingers will simply phase anything I touch
I would love to be air
Air would let me be the shiver you feel on a dark night
Air would enable me to poison you with carcinogeous gas
Air would leave me unnoticed