Laughing at his broken glasses, tattered clothes
they pelt him with gum and chewed up pieces of paper
name-calling; "Hey stupid! Stinky! Queer-boy!"
such does he retreat to the world inside his mind

it's utopia there, a place where
he need not worry
he can draw out his own history, control time, create sprawling vast cities
that the caustic breath of reality cannot touch

school the bane of his existence, a ****** minefield
the army of bullies seems infinite
but for each juvenile his imagination ignites
creates another heroic warrior to stave away the pain

[always one to be misunderstood
creative confusion running through his blood]

parents exchanging concerned looks
as he spends night after night immersed in books
absorbing the creativity, the literate equivalent of gold
he took his heart to passion's feet whereupon he sold

never one to rely on such a farce as hope
breathing even with depression grasped 'round his throat
20 years old, once again escaping to that distant faraway land
standing bare foot under a thousand suns and crimson sand

---

he sits where I sit now
confused, life as complex and transparent as always
but with eyes grateful, fully open
able to see the beauty that lies within life's darkest obscenities

even the horrifying can be beautiful

if one can truly gaze into its gnarled face.