Black and blue paint
Coats his ragged face

Red lines flow
Stream down his arms

Maroon circles blot
Carve out his knuckles

A white and black bandana tied
Wrapped tightly around his forehead

They laugh at him

They say that he’s
He’s a trouble type clown

That he roams
Prowls the back alley

But I see a boy
A boy who cries alone at night

They say those paints
Show he doesn’t care

That he’s disturbed
With a broken soul

But I see a boy
A boy who is afraid to smile

Sitting alone
On the corner of 75th

Hand wrapped tightly
Firmly around mine

I see the tear that
Washes the mask away