I knew a boy who liked to draw,
He knew 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, only his gallery knew.
His drawings were different, no paper or pen,
But needed a bandage every 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 down at his shoes,
Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered,"I draw, too."
A/N: This poem is not written by me and I do not take credit for it. I just love this poem so much and couldn't not share it.
