The quiet ones
Striding sluggishly down the hall
Through barging teens all six ft tall
My cowering head, heavy as lead
Bears down on my shoulders, as if i was dead.
Folder grasped in a sweaty hand
On shaky legs i struggle to stand
Amid the silence of compliant sheep
Herded into the realms of their own defeat
But i the sleuth, know better than all
For i am the boy who’s noticeably small
Conformity steals our freedom.
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