I can tell somebody beat
him badly as a kid.

They used nasty words like
"I wish you were never born."

They put razors in his skin, rubbed his face in gasoline, lit a match.

His name is Greg.

He wears glasses.

Smart. I can tell.

He has a way about him.

Shy. Nervous. Timid.

Modest eyes.

He hasn't let his hurt turn him into them. He wears his badge of scars like a silent hero.

His voice is a soft spoken child, every time I see him I wanna tell him;

Whatever they did to you I am sorry.
You deserve the highest love.

I want to find him a soft girl with the valley wind in her arms so she can take him down to the place where Lions rest.