Okay

He can't grasp a pencil--

How can he grasp the magnitude

Of what he's going through?

That it will be okay.

(Will it be okay?)

How can he understand, 

He's in a world that will always be

Uncomfortable

Unwelcoming

Painful, even.

I may not know why

The caged bird sings,

But without a voice,

Without a song, 

He'll die, never having been heard, 

Understood. 

Born into a life that 

Expects more,

Demands more, 

But sets him behind, 

A handicap from birth

That he must struggle against 

Until the day it's done. 

He may never catch up,

Little less excel. 

Forget savant--

I'll take potty trained.

Not great, not best--

Just okay. 

I don't need a linguist, 

Words that craft and create and move--

Just give me "I love you",

Or "yes", "no".

...."mom".

Twenty years plus I have on him,

To figure it out, 

Navigate,

Make sense of the senseless.

But this...oh, this....

This is the hardest,

Because it makes no sense.

Forget cause--

As helpful as that would be--

And forget cure as well.

I have reasonable requests,

I think.

Make it okay. 

Make it so that he doesn't suffer,

Every minute,

Trying to survive in a world,

A society,

That was made for everyone but him.

You can't fix him--

He's not broken.

HE IS NOT BROKEN,

Nor will I be.

Just...

Meet him halfway.

Let it be okay. 

(Copyright: Andra Wearden, July 25, 2014)