The sun is out, the sky is blue,

There's not a cloud to spoil the view,

But the pain won't stop or go away,

Not for a moment, an hour, a day.

Confused about things like boys and girls,

Liking both; I'm a wind of whirls.

Bullied for one, then two, then three;

Reach the ninth year and you'll find me.

A brother of hatred, pain and violence,

An argumentative house at risk of subsidence;

And standing with bags on the doormat

You'll find me and my only friend: the cat.

By G, 13