a friday notes-app poem

for a boy and his trousse (16 may 2025)

he said only if
i really trust someone,
they can see
my broken things.

(he means pencils
reduced to shards;
bits of eraser floating
in a sea of highlighter felt,
springs and ink and lead,
fourteen former crayons -
the ruined colony
of his pencil case.

he means shock 
on little french faces,
coiffed and careful,
utterly unmoored
by his apparent
disrespect).

he means he knows 
his difference
and
that he’s not alone.

//mischa

---

when my son casually threw out the sentence at the top of this poem, it stopped me in my tracks on the sidewalk home from school. it took me a minute to recognize what he meant (i thought he might be speaking in song lyrics again, ha).

i know he doesn’t dislike being different, doesn’t feel the need to fit in. he finds his own ways to express and connect, in many languages and without words. more importantly, he always finds his people. the ones who can see below the surface, who can hear what he means, who can understand his broken things. i know this, but it was nice to hear him say it.

so here’s a poem for that moment, scribbled down as soon as we got home, while he greeted the dog. and as always, a nudge to celebrate the kind of writing that happens on the sidewalk or on the bus, when words tumble forth and we scurry to catch them.

carry on, oh scribe of precious unedited instants. 💚//m