I knew a boy who liked to draw.
he drew pictures that nobody saw.
he was most artistic late at night.
in the bathroom out of sight.
he kept it a secret, no one knew.
he didn't tell a soul, and his gallery grew.
his drawings were different , no paper or pen.
but he needed a bandage now again.
we stood by the river under the stars.
he rolled up his sleeves and showed my his scars.
he felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoe.
then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered , "I draw too."
