It Doesn't Matter

A boo full of poems. I chose this title because it is my personal favourite. I have published all of these poems elsewhere, so no, I am no plagiarising my own work! ©1Disawsum 2014


1. It Doesn't Matter

  It doesn't matter about the smell, It doesn't matter about the noises. It doesn't matter that I'm hooked up, To this machine that goes 'beep beep beep'.   It doesn't matter that I can't stand, It doesn't matter that I look disheveled. It doesn't matter that I'm here now, It doesn't matter, how long for.   It doesn't matter that I don't give a shit About what the hell is going on right now. It doesn't matter that I'm an adult, And he's just a kid, put together in the same small room.   I don't need to ask, and he doesn't need to speak, The bald hair and oxygen mask speaks in volumes. We both know, that it's just a matter of time, That one of us will be gone, and we both know who.   But it doesn't matter how long we live for, What does matter, is the story we tell. It doesn't matter who we tell it to, All that matters, is that we tell it, one way or another.   The kid looks at me, everyday, never conversing, always looking. He never stops, until one day, he opens his mouth just to say "Hey." I know that soon, he will be gone, I know that soon, He must tell me, the story locked inside of him.    I hear his voice, weakened with bed-rest,  But weakened also with the cancer. He doesn't speak, for days on end, He looks so peaceful, in his dreams.   It doesn't matter, that I'm old and he's not. It doesn't matter, that I'm wise and he's not, We're both put together, for one reason, We're both put together, to fight this battle.   He picks at the feathers, falling from his pillow Like autumn leaves falling, waiting for the winter. He sips at the precious water, like he wants To console every crying soul in this world.   So wise but so young for his age.    He unexpectedly falls back onto his bed, Like he gives in to the powers of gravity. He so quickly springs back to life, Like he is an Energizer bunny.   He never acts like a nine year old boy, Like the way society has taught him,  How nine year old boys should act. He denies the so called truths of society.   Because when you're in this place, You have no time to be who you are Expected to be, how you are supposed to act. Because in here, there is only a place to be who you truly are.   I leave, five days later into my stay, and he looks at me, Telling me his story through his eyes. I will never forget his story, and I promised him That I would tell it to everyone that would listen.   Because he deserves to be known, his spirit Shall live on, never to be forgotten.  He hands me a feather, And says "This is for you."
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