Breathing Is Nice

I have bumps and bruises,

scars and dents,

and pierced ears that puncture my immorality. 

I am a smart kid;

I have the grades for a proud parent,

and a crooked smile for a family portrait. 

I have many secrets inside.

I choose not to disclose them,

unless I feel the need to not hide.

I want to experience a life

that doesn’t have fears or tears

chaos or commotion,

doubts or lies,

silence or cries.

I just want to breathe.

Air is nice.