The Boy You Don't Stare At

I stared at him.
It hurt.
It hurt to see him like that.
Glazed eyes and madden face.
Later that morning I heard loud smacks.
His drunken father's hand connecting to his beautiful face.
Leaving stings and cries to linger in the air.
His head was on the desk.
His eyes showing nothing but emptiness.
He stared at the teacher.
Not even registering the words.
I kept staring.
I saw the wonderful flaws on his face.
The scar he got from his father throwing an empty bottle at him.
His bruised knuckles when he punched the wall.
He looked at my curious eyes.
I grew nervous and looked away.
I felt his eyes boring into my cheek as I let my hair fall in front of my face.
You don't stare at someone like Andrew Johnson.
His mean and tough demeanor was frightening until he was home and didn't ever speak out loud.
But it seemed like we were both the same because we were two broken people.
Two people who need help before we both stop breathing.