Once, there was a little boy by the name of Patrick,
A slew of scars on his face had always left him judged quick.
And the girls would point & whisper,
And the boys would laugh & joke.
Not knowing the inward power, that Patrick could invoke…
They didn’t understand he couldn’t help his marks,
Or that a fire took his family, swallowed whole.
Or that the last thing he saw out of the dark,
Was his mum, she was burning on the floor.
He didn’t wince or cry when they bashed him, words like swords,
In privacy, he unleashed his demons in the form of words.
The ink stabbing fresh against his notepad filled with songs,
Detailing all these children’s hurtful insults & their wrongs.
Patrick kept these hymns inside his book only for himself
Until a cold October morning, one of the boys opened up his mouth
“You look like you got run over by a lawnmower,” said he,
“Not even a mother could love that face.”
Then he walked over to Patrick and lifted his knee,
and kicked him harshly in that awful place.
Sprawled on the ground, still no pain in his green eyes,
He reached into his bag to deliver this boy a surprise
Patrick took out his notebook, and in an archaic voice
Patrick read from his pages, he had now made up his choice.
His green eyes turned pitch black as he read down the hexing hymn,
Sweat dripped under his eyelids as he rose up with a grin.
The boy dropped to his knees and begged “Oh please Patrick no!
I’ve got a mother who loves me waiting for me at home.”
But it was far too late now, Patrick finished reciting his song
And that was where all that was right had soured and turned wrong.
The bully screamed and shrieked in fear as his face began to bleed,
The best outcome for this boy was to come out of this deceased…
But Patrick wouldn’t allow him to get off that easy,
The boy’s limbs all went numb and his stomach got so queasy.
At this point, everything went black, and soon after Patrick left,
The boy awoke in an unexpected case of identity theft.
He reached up to touch his face with a familiar touch,
But what he felt made him unsure if he knew himself that much.
He felt into his eyelashes, and pressed in with his fingers,
Where once eyeballs sat firm, only empty spaces lingered.
No more passing judgment for this boy when there is no sight,
All could have been prevented if he’d just treated people right…
The boy felt to his cheekbones and much to his dismay,
to the point where he screamed so loud it could be heard 10 miles away,
and no matter who heard the scream, no matter near or far,
Could change the fact that now his face, was covered in scars…