This was written as a request from a friend, and is dedicated to her 🙂
To all those people who’re easily misunderstood- they’ll never really know, will they?
His messy, long, dark hair
Flopped about, falling everywhere.
As he carelessly shook it off his eyes,
In a mile’s periphery, females swooned and sighed.
Oblivious, he stared straight on ahead,
Not caring about the whispers, or those who stared,
As he tried to tame his messy, dark hair.
There are so many rumours all about him,
They say so many things.
They talk of each of
His never lasting flings.
They say he has a jet black, sleek racer bike.
They say he gets his money from winning street fights.
He shrugs it all off, he really doesn’t care.
People always talk, and people always stare.
They say he’s a bad boy, so out of control
They say he’s a bad boy, bad to the bone.
But they don’t really know about his internal strife.
They know nothing about him, or about his life.
Or of the single mother, or the father who went away,
They see him in black and white, ignoring his shades of gray.
He’s working two jobs to buy his sister a new phone.
He’s kind, and loving, and genuine- not cold and out of control.
They’ve judged him too soon- he isn’t made of stone.
He’s not what they make him out to be- he’s not bad to the bone.