Some people say I’m selfless.

That I wake up and put myself on the back rack,

But it’s definitely not that.

 

When I wake up

I look in the mirror

past the dried slobber and nappy dew

I look at the boy too misconstrued by society,

too tired, too exhausted,

too consider his own variety.

Then I was back to reality.

 

That boy that’s broken has greater words unspoken.

He’s keen to emotion,

He’s not your everyday man,

He can’t stand himself,

But he’ll support the land

Of which his peers walk on.

 

He’s walked a million cracked miles.

He’s climbed crumbled mountains to the top.

He’s crossed oceans of tears.

His shoes beg him to stop.

But he doesn’t listen.

 

He’s just a boy in a scary world.

But he’s an arms dealer.

He’ll crack them wide open

to take in whoever needs healing

He’s got a feeling

that this world ain’t got much left.

He’s only 18,

so he counts his steps,

because 18 means something.

 

It’s more than a number.

It is the ending and beginning to a test.

18 testifies that he made it past puberty

That he took on the bulls of his age

He faced problems head on

Put his fist up, went fisticuffs with depression

He topped flawed adolescence.

He went mono e mono with his demons

But he’s nowhere near the last round.

 

His time isn’t impending.

If he’s knocked down, he’ll get up himself

He’s not depending on the world to solve his issues.

He’s not waiting for a box of tissues,

to wipe off that blood sweat and tears he’s poured

Nor that grand finale, the one centered on that big box.

 

When his finale does come,

he’ll plan to keep the life alive

He’s short on grief

But he is a river of sympathy

He will leave a legacy

That hopefully tells his friends and family

That he’s not gone.

That he’s always home.

 

Some people say I’m selfless.

That I wake up and put myself on the back rack,

But it’s definitely not that.

I’m simply flawless

and I live in a giving world-

which gave me the character I reflect-

and I live to give back.