There once was a young boy,
a sweet, but different kid,
who was taunted and bullied
and he didn’t always handle it well.
There weren’t buzzwords
like “cancel culture” or “safe space”
when the boy was growing up,
so his bullies never got canceled,
and the boy, despite the torture,
never really needed a “safe space”.
The boy hated school,
but he loved coming home,
because he had a big family,
and his grandma would watch him
at her house,
his home away from home.
Grandma’s house was always warm,
her kitchen was always full of snacks,
and she loved to watch the shows the
boy watched, even though she had trouble
following along and would ask, “Who is that?”
and “What does that word mean?”
The boy would forget the taunts
and jabs from the day when he was
at Grandma’s house, but some days he
couldn’t. He’d come through the door
angry at the world sometimes, wondering
why people couldn’t just leave him alone.
And some days, he’d come through the door
But Grandma was always there,
ready with snacks, ready with a hug,
ready to watch the shows she didn’t
The boy eventually graduated, with honors,
much to Grandma’s pride,
and was off to college, far away from Grandma’s house.
Then one day, when the boy was gone and now
a man, Grandma did what Grandma’s do,
The boy was a man now, living in a world not like the one
he grew up in, and those buzzwords swirled around him
day after day, post after post.
“Safe Space,” “Cancel Culture”
etc. and so forth.
At her funeral, as they lowered her into the ground,
the man remembered those days as a boy,
alone, tortured, and angry,
until Grandma was with him.
Then he realized why he never needed a “Safe Space.”
The man didn’t cry as they lowered Grandma into the ground,
but the boy who he used to be did.
He cried, and missed that warm, safe home.