I know a boy who like to draw.
He drew pictures that nobody saw.
He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom out of
sight.
He kept a secret no one
knew,
He didn't tell a soul but his gallery grew.
His drawing were different, no paper or pen
But needed a bandage now and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeve 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'.
YOU ARE READING
Orphic
Poetryw o r d s t h a t a r e b e t t e r t o b e l e f t u n s a i d a c h i e v m e n t s 🌠#456 in poetry #223 in poetry
