I draw

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I knew a boy who liked to draw

He drew pictures nobody saw

He was more artistic late at night

In the bathroom, out of sight

He kept a secret no one knew

He didn't tell a soul, and his gallery grew

His drawings were different, no paper or pen

But needed a bandage now and then

We stood by the river under the stars

He rolled up his sleeves, and showed me his scars

He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoe

Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered, "I draw, too."
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I just wanted to say that boys harm, too. I know a boy who did. And I would also like to mention VictoriaKot; she had written this on her story, and I kinda sorta took it.

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