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The Hurt Boy and the Birds

The hurt boy talked to the birds

and fed them the crumbs of his heart.

It was not easy to find the words

for secrets he hid under his skin.

The hurt boy spoke of a bully's fist

that made his face a bruised moon -

his spectacles stamped to ruin.

It was not easy to find the words

for things that nightly hissed

as if his pillow was a hideaway for creepy-crawlies -

the note he sent to the girl he fancied

held high in mockery.

But the hurt boy talked to the birds

and their feathers gave him welcome -

Their wings taught him new ways to become.

John Agard