Baby Boy

A poem describing problems with my son.

the scrapes and scars are depressing to me.
The only part of my son I don't want to see.
I spend sleepless nights
thinking of what caused the fights
that make Dominick do this.
Where is the little boy I miss.


His wrists are full of scars,
and he's stuck in tar
as he strolls down this road
carrying a load
on his shoulders. Why does he cut?
And why does he make me hurt so much?