He walks down the halls day after day.
He didn’t want any trouble,
All he wanted was a friend.
Instead he had enemies.
They were everywhere he went:
In the place he called home,
In the morning,
In all his classes,
And especially at lunch.
He could never get away from them.
He didn’t know where or when they would come again,
But they knew when they would.
He’s always the last one to know.
Every day he wonders why they hate him so much.
Is it because he’s the new kid?
Is it because he didn’t have as much money as everyone else?
Is it because he’s of African-American heritage?
Is it because his arms are covered with scars of his past?
His questions were never answered,
And he hated that.
So one day he takes a razor blade to his veins.
Blood smears the floor,
The walls,
His bed.
So in the end it really didn’t matter why he was bullied,
Because now we all know that no matter whom you are,
Your blood runs red.