you're an odd one, confusing,
so full of potential and ideas and
living, breathing, but still just
dying,
a sickly, stunted boy with
no hope, so he says, no hope,
and no love, so he acts, no love,
but mine, maybe hers, some others,
not sure, but you are loved
and though you're flawed, always running,
hiding, making chase and
living off of loopholes
dastardly character flaws sabotaging,
militating against, what exactly?
i don't know and
you say i don't know you but
i'd like to write you into a book, someday
you'd make a stunning character
with all your lovely flaws.
(and perhaps, if i'm lucky
that book will be an autobiography
and your role will be
greater than i expect.)