they see a rebel. with your dyed hair and your tattoos, you’re their perfect definition of a delinquent. they never stay long enough to look at your eyes. yes, the eyes that betray your tiredness and frustration. 
but i see them. i see you, and more. i see a boy. i see a friend. remember when we were kids, running through familiar streets, carefree and unburdened? yeah, i do. but we’re older now, and we no longer have the luxury of youth’s blissful ignorance. 
some of us dealt with it, albeit with resignation. but you, you were hit the hardest, i think. so you changed. and they think you don’t feel anything anymore, so very cold. but i saw the way you helped that old man across the street, when everyone else pretended they didn't see him. i see the way you look at her — sometimes i wish you still looked at me like that
sometimes i wish you’d just look at me. 
but i’m just a remnant of the terrible childhood you so desperately want to forget. 

and you're just somebody i used to know. 

Published by Erika Wong