“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines	he wrote a poemAnd he called it "Chops"	because that was the name of his dogAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his teacher gave him an A	and a gold starAnd his mother hung it on the kitchen door	and read it to his auntsThat was the year Father Tracy	took all the kids to the zooAnd he let them sing on the busAnd his little sister was born	with tiny toenails and no hairAnd his mother and father kissed a lotAnd the girl around the corner sent him aValentine signed with a row of X's	and he had to ask his father what the X's meantAnd his father always tucked him in bed at nightAnd was always there to do itOnce on a piece of white paper with blue lines	he wrote a poemAnd he called it "Autumn"	because that was the name of the seasonAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his teacher gave him an A	and asked him to write more clearlyAnd his mother never hung it on the kitchen door	because of its new paintAnd the kids told him	that Father Tracy smoked cigarsAnd left butts on the pewsAnd sometimes they would burn holesThat was the year his sister got glasses	with thick lenses and black framesAnd the girl around the corner laughed	when he asked her to go see Santa ClausAnd the kids told him why	his mother and father kissed a lotAnd his father never tucked him in bed at nightAnd his father got mad	when he cried for him to do it.Once on a paper torn from his notebook	he wrote a poemAnd he called it "Innocence: A Question"	because that was the question about his girlAnd that's what it was all aboutAnd his professor gave him an A	and a strange steady lookAnd his mother never hung it on the kitchen door	because he never showed herThat was the year that Father Tracy diedAnd he forgot how the end	of the Apostle's Creed wentAnd he caught his sister	making out on the back porchAnd his mother and father never kissed	or even talkedAnd the girl around the corner	wore too much makeupThat made him cough when he kissed her	but he kissed her anyway	because that was the thing to doAnd at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed	his father snoring soundlyThat's why on the back of a brown paper bag	he tried another poemAnd he called it "Absolutely Nothing"Because that's what it was really all aboutAnd he gave himself an A	and a slash on each damned wristAnd he hung it on the bathroom door	because this time he didn't think	he could reach the kitchen.”
Stephen Chbosky,
poem