I was like him once.
Constantly bullied.
I watched him during my class,
And the memories flooded back.

I was falling again,
My face smashing into the ground,
For my arms were full of books,
so I couldn't break my fall.
Kids were laughing,
my nose was bleeding,
God there was so much blood.
But it got worse.
There was more blood to come.

The boy sat in class,
not really focusing on the lesson.
His head was throbbing,
and his wrist was swollen.
He didn't want to go home today,
he would have to hide it.
His parents couldn't know,
because then they would move,
and he would never fix this
on his own.
But it was becoming too much.
He turned his head
he made eye contact
with another kid.

I had to move
when I was beaten too many times
there was so much blood...
Wait,
Is he looking at me?
He is,
Oh God,
I didn't mean to stare.
Can I even help him?

That kid looked away,
and the boy sighed deeply.
It hurt to breathe,
It hurt to just even exist.

What horrible things to live through.
...But it's the start of the memories that spark the solution.