we are the children whose silence is pain

the bloodstains washed out in metaphorical rain

our brains bearing scars from words, jabs, and punches

caught up in corridors, stalls, and cafeteria lunches

do you see all our faces? our black-and-white tears

fall down our cheeks as we fade through the years

you won’t know our scars, for we hide them too well

but scars don’t equate to having stories to tell

and tell them we could, if people only would hear

the world would be changed, it would all be so clear

but no one ever listens, thus, in shadows we dwell

the children in silence, whose stories none tell


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