The curses ran down his face 

He tried to run from himself 

He ran and ran and got no where 

He ran to escape the mist that clogged his mind 

The abuse 

Bruised him in and out in and out 

Poisonous words transcended through his soul 

His mannerism swayed like a ravaged river 

Ears lay upon his face like an elephant 

The innocence ripped from him 

Through his brown eyes pain lived 

His actions bleed insecurities 

His full and pink lips was his strength 

His protruding ears was a delight 

His big hands to big for a young scrawny boy to know what to do with them

They swayed like one of the corner gossip girls 

A boy without a father

Mannerism as soft as a falling leaf

His voice odd

Unique

Soft 

The others did not understand 

He was like no other

Not amongst the common 

So they decided what he was 

They had the audacity to look him straight in the eyes

He was gay

He was a faggot

He was ugly 

He was everything not good enough

That was the beauty of him 

Beauty in disguise

He was unchained to society norms

His soft voice had something to say 

It was demanding

His big ears lifted to the sun

Lifted to God

Bigger and better to hear him with 

The switch in his walk was of his own

He was not to mimic others sway

The beauty in disguise was turned into curses and demons 

The beauty

The blessings God gave him others said was a curse 

And he let them 

That boy lost and confused

Abused and oppressed

Depressed and unimpressed 

He scarred his face from inch to inch 

And his mother laid beside him face as wet as the ocean

He could not come to tell her of his curses, his pain 

The cry inside stayed inside 

So one day he picked up a Pen and Paper

Wrote his stories 

His sick thoughts

His cry out for help

He left his bruises and confusion all out on paper

He vented through Pen to Paper

He talked through Pen to Paper

Poetry helped to face the music

To cope with the unhappiness 

And when his mother found some of his poems 

She knew he was talking to her through Pen to Paper

He found that

You cannot run from yourself 

Poetry was sacred 

Pen to Paper 

Pen to Paper is still where he lives