Just Make Me a Real Boy

There are days I write to educate.
And then there are days I write just for adoptees.
Today I wrote verse for adoptees.


I will never believe that I am Valid.

Because you took me away from who I was.

You cut off my roots.

You made my body believe there was something wrong with me.

You made my body believe I wasn’t good enough.

And my body has woven that lie into my chemistry and my cellular fibers.

And it made me cold, hard… rigid…

Say it to me 100 … 1000… 10,000 times that you love me.

Say it again and again and again that I am good enough.

It’s an arrow that falls short.

It’s a broken catapult.

The idea that I am valid is an autoimmune disease.

My body hears your words and sees a germ.

A bacteria that caused my greatest pain.

Any glimpse of being valid and my entire body suits up.

It grabs it’s coping mechanisms…

And it goes to war at the very thing that could save its soul.

If I like Casper struggle to make myself real,

If I am begging the Blue Fairy to change me from Oak…

How can I be expected to breath and feel my body,

How can I live if at conception it was stamped in red, “INVALID?”

How can I feel real when I’m tethered with puppet strings of expectations?

A commodity bought that’s supposed to perform for audiences?

When will you stop expecting.

When will you learn your words mean nothing.

When will you stop looking at me with heads tilted confused?

When will you stop screaming at my invisible skin to move?

And just sit with me.

Just sit with me and acknowledge I have flesh.

I have volume.

That I disperse the molecules in the air.

That I take up space.

Just sit with me.

Until I can feel my own presence and not resent it.

Until I can mark myself seen.

Until I can stamp myself “VALID”

Until I can feel real.

Let me feel real.

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