Martin Is a Selective Mute

He is sitting here beside me tonight because he can’t sleep. He has bad dreams.

Martin stopped talking when some men did things that hurt him very much. He is trying very hard to get better.

He is working very hard to live.

Martin is a fighter.

He fights back at those men, he fights back at the dreams, and he fights back with poetry.

It took Martin a long time to be able to write poetry. Poetry is all Martin will write. It is his choice. It gives him control. It gives him — for now — a voice. I have never heard Martin’s voice.

Maybe someday. That is up to Martin.

I love Martin’s poetry. I love Martin. Martin is in control of Martin. Martin is in control of his life.

I am going to allow him to sit in my big chair now and write to you. I promise not to mess with it. I promise not to correct him. I promise to leave his poem alone. I promise to not judge. I promise not to ask him any questions.

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A Poem About Blood

Poetry is blood

Silence is blood

Hurt is blood

Writing is blood

Kill Marin is blood

Kill me is blood

Blood is in you

He was in me it was blood

When they go in you it is blood

Screams is blood

Soking a bed in blood

Bite

Tongue

Blood

Dreams are blood

Bleeding is blood

Kill Martin is blood

Kill Martin