poem draft

 

 

 

Living in a place with no one to play with

 People thinking you’re the meanest person around

People don’t know how nice you can be.

Coming out of a quiet neighborhood

Where the only house you hear is mine

Me yelling all the time

Having fun but people think of me as a mean man

Breaking things is my thing but in the end its perfectly fixed
Looking across the street you see so many little kids having fun
And when you ask to play they run
but at the end of the day they come to see that your a really nice and sweet person
that they couldent see