Why am I crying?

This is dedicated to all the kids that I've worked with that I can't keep in touch with after they leave because of rules forbidding contact after clients discharge.

Beautiful wounded kids;
some can’t feel
some feel too much

I feel too much
about them
or not at all;

I’m guilty.

I want to write them poems
instead of the banal notes
that I put in their charts.

But I do my job;
I write a synopsis of their day
when I should be writing
a ballad to their soul;
a written recognition of their
art, genius, beauty, punk rock,
humor, and poetry.

Instead I list their problems.
ADHD; bi-polar; oppositional defiant;
PTSD; psychotic features; OCD;
polysubstance abuse; family problems;
suicidal ideation.

I define them by their
problems.
They learn to define
themselves by their
problems.

I teach them to “cope”
with their problems
because obviously
they are broken.
They are not
"normal".

All I can give them
is the grim hope to cope?

Nope.

I should teach them
about their soul,
about how they’re whole,
complete and perfect,
about the possibilities
for their young lives.

Not the enforcer of rules,
but the minister of love.
They need love.
They need vast quantities.

I can only give them
a kind word now and then,
a three minute conversation
standing in their doorway,
a little rec yard chat,
some smiling “redirection”.

Through
teary eyes
pained hearts
parental letdowns
anger breakdowns

I see them trying to:
look right
be a G.
act right
be pretty
sound right
be funny

It’s frustrating
and sometimes hilarious,
but mostly sad.

One girl asks me,
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
I look into her beautiful
sad eyes and I wonder
why she can’t see herself.

She tells me what her
father said:
“you’re so ugly”
“you need a diet”
“you’re stupid”.

She told me about
the beatings,
the abuse.

This girl is beautiful,
so beautiful.
She didn’t deserve that father.
She should be cherished,
celebrated, and adored.

I can’t give her that in 28 days.

Maybe I could give her a spark,
if I wasn’t a coward.

I hold back the things
that I want to say
out of fear.

Fear of saying something
“Inappropriate”.
Fear that someone
will take my love out of context
and twist it into something
weird and wrong.

Care until they leave
then just disconnect.
Easy, right?

I cower
bite my tongue
say goodbye
hold back tears
no e-mail address
won't be there to talk
swallow my love
give one allowed hug
wish well.

Wishing.

it was different
to be true to myself
to be true to them

Would it matter anyway
if I could keep in touch,
give an e-mail address,
tell them that they're loved,
how much they affect me,
how they fill my heart with joy,
how they fill my eyes with tears,
how truly beautiful they are?
Would it help to remind them,
to encourage them,
to keep loving them?

Yes, I think it would.

I hate my job.
I don’t want to lose my job.
I really love my job.

I really love these kids.

They really get to me.

untouchables
with broken hearts
only allowed
a single embrace
good bye
good luck

that's all.