The guy just kept swinging his lunchbox
and it kept hitting Shakira
in the stomach.

I had to say something.

So I did, I told him to watch where he swung
that ******* cooler.

And his boys got into it.
And they wanted to fight to.
And we were near the beach.
And the clouds were edgeless.
And the sun was pastel.

And I just wanted to **** all of them.

Shakira held me back.
My girl held me back.

And then I felt something sinking
cold, deep down in me.

I sat on the beach
and almost cried;
depression hit like peppermints.

And I'd never felt so afraid in my life.
On the beach, all those people laughing
and their fat ******* kids running into the surf,
I just wanted to **** myself right there,
I was so afraid and scared.

I'd never been scared.
Or afraid.
I'd gotten my nose broken
my jaw bruised a few times,
and I knew to put vaseline on
cuts over the eye,
but I was scared
and I can't explain the kind of fear
that's made me weak.

I've gotten into fights since then,
but I feel fear growing
everytime.

My fingers go crazy with twitching
and after it's over,
the ball gets bigger inside of me.