They don’t know
Who he is,
The new kid.

Where he came
From, or why
He’s here.

He walks down
The halls
In utter silence.
Head down, and
In the shadows
Of other walkers.

He sits in the
Back of my old
Classroom, head
Down, eyes red.

No one knows how
Smart he really is.
No one but me.
They judge him.

“That new kid’s goth,”
Or “He’s Frankenstein
in disguise,” is
What I here.

They don’t give
Him a chance.
They don’t know
What’s inside.

They don’t know
The hurt that’s
Inside of him.

Only I, the ghost
Of Black Hill
High School does.


I jump inside
His mind and
Watch over and over
The memories
That play back
In his head
Day after day.

The students
Continue to stare
At this “new kid.”

The only contact
With the real
World is, that
Gang that hangs out
In front of the school,
Who he starts fights with.
They always leave
A staring glare
With the “new kid”
And the gang leader.

I retreat in his head, again,
For I can’t take the
Teasing and bullying and pushing
Of the often full halls.

He is thinking
Of hi mother
Once again. He
Can’t get ride of that
Image of
That awful
Night, just
6 months
ago;

He was at the
Resturaunt on
The corner with
His mother. 2
Blocks from home.
A 5 minute walk.

But not close
Enough.

I watch as they
Dance their way
Home, belly’s full
With that scrumptious
Dinner. But home too
Soon did they get.

They saw the
Lights on in the
House. And raced
To the door. His
Mother ran around
Back and sneaked
In the house.


He tried to follow,
But tripped, and fell
Into the bush.
Laying there helpless,
He reluctantly watched
As the robbers
Murdered his mother.

He weeps softly now,
Not in his dream
Anymore. The only
Thing clear, is the too
Familiar face, of the
Gang member, that
Hangs out in front of the
School, with unfinished business.

I leave him now
Crying for I
Too feel the pain.
For I too was in
The dream.
For I was and am his
Mother.