Why do you cry?
Is all you think about really the urge to die?
Do you truly just want to let go and fly?
Have you honestly lost all hope to try?
When I look at you all I can do is sigh,

You’re useless, boy,
Thrown around by life like rag doll toy,
Why wont you get up and fight?
Use all of your strength and might,
Why wont you stand up, boy?
All things you love you destroy,
Self-destructive habits aren’t good you know?
Yet all this said you do it so,
Why do you cry, boy?

I want to be a poet,
Studied like Keats and Shakespeare,
For my writings to invoke love, sadness and fear,
For classrooms to be filled with my spilled words,
More exciting stuff than multiplication and surds,
For entire essays written about my verbalisation of life,
To let them know my truest pains and strife,
So people know how I feel about ‘her’,
For them to learn, to me, her identity is a blur,
To make my perfect family proud,
To have the world to know ‘Jack Youd’

Or am I just a lonely poet,
Writing words never to be read, embraced and felt,
All my words, wisdom and woes,
And yet people will never know it.

No, they are not heroes from comic books, promising to uphold justice,
But to him they are Superman with his unmatched strength,
They are Batman with his unchallenged logic and wisdom,
They are Captain America with his incorruptible morals,
They are Thor with his magic hammer to fight off the darkness,
His friends are his backbone, his strength and his stable wall to lean on,

No, they are not Gods or Superheroes,
But to him they are the world, his love and his reason to live,
They’re My Beautiful Friends.