Mean

I wake into a tornado: Lights suddenly blaze through my eyelids. The air buzzes and hums; The distant din of clamor Still imperceptible through the haze That fogs my mind. A voice, and loud, gives a gruff command. The iron in it still shakes me awake, Even after 18 years. The bus lurches forward, all eyes lowered As I move down the cramped aisle. I look Richie Davis right in his face, But he won't meet my challenging gaze. A wolf-grin spreads from ear-to-ear Much like the feeling of hot-cocoa warming From the inside out on a frigid day. Like lambs, they cower. Between the places where I go To get lectured at, I spin through crowds And move through the throngs like a king Through his subject. That is, until one tiny freshmen Stumbles across my path. Without thinking, he's off his feet. Shock and fear written across his face Like a line straight from a poem. I drink up his reaction like An alcoholic skeleton; no sip is ever enough. Beyond this institution's walls There's only one other home. Within its walls echo angry shouts, and The vision in my head crescendos. The kid in my clenched hands wears my face: I'm only doing what I know. So why does the pain inside only grow When they say all I am is mean?