A child cuts their tiny knee,
Crimson trickles to the ground,
Stones of the street speckled,
No tears to be found,
They sucked up their lip,
Wiped the glimmer from their eye,
To disguise a quick reaction,
For brave kids never cry,
Little feet march on,
A soldier of the climbing frame,
Stomping on the coarse road,
Ignoring those who call their name,
Only to grow up,
As tall as the park gate,
A bigger kid than the biggest,
Deciding their own fate,
But pain switches place,
Attacking their old mind,
The ache cuts the head,
A place that we can’t find,
Yet they cling to the teaching,
That only cowards cry,
They force back the waves,
To simply show a sigh,
If only we had told them,
To let the tears be free,
They would never be drowning,
On the feelings we don’t see.
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