He Was a Good Kid

His childhood was volatile Every morning violence was his alarm clock And every night he fell asleep To the lullaby of screaming voices To the symphony of anger and broken glass But he was a good kid When the streets became his parents The criminals became his brothers He grew accustomed to a rugged lifestyle Never safe, never steady In places where others would quiver with fear He smiled and laughed He never had the money to play sports Or a chance in hell to go to college He never had a family outing Or even a decent homecooked meal And they wondered why there were drugs in his pocket And they wondered why there was blood on his boots In a holding cell, he could relax In prison, he was at home He smashed peoples faces as if he were watering flowers He painted the floors red like his fury was artwork But his conscience was very much alive Because he was a good kid Nobody taught him leadership, but he always changed rules that were unfair Nobody taught him loyalty, but he could always be trusted Nobody taught him to be kind, but he was thoughtful and caring Nobody nourished his morality, but he protected the weak If you could look through the prison orange he wore If you could see the blood and tears that paved his road If you could watch his flashbacks If you could look inside his soul And see the honest heart that beats inside his chest You would say: This man is innocent Let him go By Kyle Ezra Kriticos