Thinking
Specialist
- Jul 9, 2020
- 310
I knew a boy that liked 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 nobody knew,
He didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew.
His drawings were different, no paper or pen,
He needed a bandage now and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars.
He felt embarrassed and looked at his shoe,
Then I rolled up my sleeve and whispered "I draw too."
(Please note this is not my own poem, I don't know who wrote it I just found it online. Also sorry if all my posting today is spamming you. It's just been one of those days for me I guess)
He drew pictures that nobody saw.
He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom out of sight.
He kept a secret nobody knew,
He didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew.
His drawings were different, no paper or pen,
He needed a bandage now and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars.
He felt embarrassed and looked at his shoe,
Then I rolled up my sleeve and whispered "I draw too."
(Please note this is not my own poem, I don't know who wrote it I just found it online. Also sorry if all my posting today is spamming you. It's just been one of those days for me I guess)