Afflicted little boy,
your roots refuse to grow
in asphyxiated silt and sand.

Little boys shouldn't play
with toys made for
big girls,
or pink hearts
made of the finest limoges
that can shatter
and break when they fall.

No need for little-boy words
to try and explain.
You are excused
with a pat on the head
and a sympathetic sigh.

Do not fear, little boy,
I have no skeletons to hide,
(the door is always open wide).
No demons to scare you,
only fairies who lost their light
because someone said that
they didn't believe.