If this is how we treat our heroes…

I wanted to graze my finger tips across a surface roughed by bad intentions

Cut my teeth on twisted lips and indigestion

Was it just my imagination that this blue belonged on me

With a silver prong stylus in my hand, this the freedom I understand

The one that boys painted hues of black and blue while wearing green berets

My body is littered with there words. Their taunts of encouragements

Their disgusted repose

A hero really, for the lack of a better word

Who put such fitness into me I thought I would burn

But here they lie, with stained tongues and strained eyes

Having kissed the encouragement that came at a surprise

My color, my blood, spread quickly in the streets

Fingers one raised on intention now begging for release

Lips clenched in indignation now chewing on my teeth

These boys, so precious, forced to grow up

It is my imagination or did they forget how to trust?

A/N

Thank you dear readers for sticking around through these trying times. I know my angst has gone up a fee notches. So hopefully you can enjoy this one. I would love to see how people interpret it.

Much love from mine to yours

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