Even now so many years later
The rawness picked at the scars
Contempt was all they’d felt for him
They beat him with iron bars.

His faith was just the same as theirs
He worked as hard as they
But the night the hooded men came
Not a single word did they say.

For just that single one moment
He wished he looked their way
But he’d been born albino pale
Not pink or black as they.

His skin always burnt in Summer
He could barely cope with the sun
The butt of harsh jokes for all his short life
He blew out his brains with a gun.

There was no one to mourn his passing
His death never raised an eyebrow
He was simply a lonely sad suicide
Who just couldn’t fit in somehow.

©Joe Wilson – It often hurts being different…2016