someday they'll burn

the park bench this

little boy sits on,

it's red and shiny

like his lunchbox.

he scratches the glaze

with his tiny finger,

gummy beneath the nail,

smiling, he likes the

look of newness murdered,

giggles as he thinks

about the damage.

when the bench begins to rot,

it will start along the line

he drew while the others

played tag and drank juice,

he wonders what else

he can ruin forever

with a silent little scrape,

for his birthday

he asks for a pocketknife,

thinking about how much

he likes the glisten

of red in the sun,

and sticky hands

that change the future.

he makes a list

of the others that never

sat on his favorite bench

with him, he will tag them all.

Be deaf to the ones who make an attempt

To hurt you, a tongue of black,

Be deaf to the ones holding you in contempt

For their own unrighteous act,

Who try to leave your dreams eliminated,

Inconsiderate and selfish,

The perfect picture imagined, disintegrated,

From words they uttered, so Hellish

Don't let the words create destruction

Keep your lips closed, hold in corruption

Please, do whatever it takes

Clench the teeth till the enamel breaks.