The Kid In The Back Of The Class poems

The Kid In The Back Of The Class

The kids pointed and the kids laughed
at the young man that sat in the back of the class.

The one with his head down
to conceal his lost frown,
the one whose face of confusion
led to all the students' intrusion.

Him feeling miserable was the children's desire;
they most enjoyed teasing him of his attire.
From the clothing he would wear
to the weird styles of his hair.

As the children ridiculed him and called him names,
the young man hid his face in great shame.
What was he to do when it was one vs. all?
'Cause he knew what they'd do when they found him in the hall.

The bruises on his skin
were not punishments from his own sins.
But they were the cruelty for his differences,
and the consequence of his existence.

It was midday the next day when the school went under attack.
The students inside had no time to react.
Everything was happening all so fast,
and it all started right after that first blast.

Loud gunshots filled every hall,
and blood was splattered all over every wall.
For thirty long minutes the rampage went on,
until it finally ended with the death of the con.

When it was all over, reporters flooded the scene
and asked everyone around what they had seen.
Students said they never saw the man.
They said as soon as they heard the guns, they all just ran.

Days later the school was still full of broken glass,
but that didn't stop students from returning to class.
When class had started, the students placed, under their desks, their feet.
and they all turned around to notice in the back that there was one empty seat...