broken bikes

of outcasts

he was always

on the outside,

looking in

a face

blended into the constantly

changing background

of the world,

invisible to everyone

he was there;

he was always there

he didn't talk much,

but when he did,

it was like the musical sound

of raindrops on rooftops;

quiet, but demanding

he stood aside 

from the crowd,

and some might think

he was shy,

but no,

he was simply observing

what happened around him

when he was not

a part of it

no one knew him,

and frankly,

no one cared

but i am 

proud to say

that i knew the boy

who never mixed into

the judgmental mess

of society