The little boy that hid in the closet

or under the bed.

The one always in the principal’s office.

Who felt like home was a threat.

He’s not dead.

The little boy who ran the streets,

cause home was where he was beat.

The teenager that wanted that boy to be destroyed.

I’m very proud of that little boy.

The boy that can’t trust.

The boy that can read faces.

Although he still hides in the closet of his mind,

and sometimes would like to leave the world behind;

He made it here,

and I am proud of that little boy.