Boy

I see that boy with the kind-of long hair.
At school I see him wander aimlessly, and purposefully.
He walks alone
And I don't think he cares.

That boy. That boy with the kind-of long hair. So confident.
I'd like to meet him, and touch his pretty hair
And ask him where he's going
And, oh, to hold that chin up a little higher.

And oh my god I pray for him.
So unprepared, naive, unexpecting.
I just hope to that god of yours that my pretty boy
Isn't caught.

I hope that he isn't fed to those vicious populars.
The hungry girls.
And jealous boys.
And how I'd like to protect him. The pretty boy with the kind-of long hair.

by Anon., Groveland, MA