Dear you,,,, yes, you,,,,,all of you.
I hope this gets to you in time, and there’s something you can do.
They call me The Boy and back then I used to be considered a blessing.
I’m writing to tell you…no, to remind you how I’ve been progressing.
My mother and sisters love to believe I’m growing up in a patriarchal society,
And all I have to do is be a man, that’s their definition of reality.
My aunt thinks I’m programmed to bottle up my pain and anguish,
To suffer in silent agony, she says, will cure my sister’s languish.
I don’t understand what I did wrong. I’m just a child lost in neglect,
Why can’t even dad see how much my life has become wrecked?
I watch the sun go down hoping you’ll reach out, though you are disinclined.
What in God’s name did I do to warrant being left behind?
Why fight to rescue my sister only to start pushing me into the shell?
When it can’t contain me anymore, how will words dispel what you know so well?
I’m struggling enough to grow into a man, just let me anchor unto thee.
All I need is someone to empower and to mentor but not to suffocate me.
You have abandoned me and left me to succumb to destitution,
Desperately searching in the eyes of the society for consolation.
And all you’ve fed me is depression, hopelessness and loneliness.
If I grow messed up, will you seek my redemption and salvation or your forgiveness?
You’re busy breeding an angry, marginalized generation of men,
Vascillating between climbing out at any cost and embracing the glen.
Was what I’ve become unexpected after being so unloved, unwanted?
Could a boy grow up in a world full of uncertainties and not come out blunted?
I hope this gets to you in time, and there’s something you can do.
Yours Desperately,
The Boy.
©Maina​