Birth Of Rebellion Poem by Toby Twigg

He was young, small, perhaps malnourished
Looking out from deep set eyes rimmed with neglect
I could see he wanted...
To know why?
To know what?
I did not know for sure
I sensed he was trying to form words
And questions in his mind
The words did not form on his unwashed face
He just stared.

I wanted to say, 'I understood'
That I remembered what it was like to be small
Surrounded by huge ‘Grown-ups
Pushed by bullies stronger than me,
Always in groups of three
And whispered at by clean starched girls
With bright blue eyes
Laughed at or even worse, pitied.

Years later I saw him again
Now he was taller and tougher looking
His jeans and jacket still reeked of poverty
His eyes deeper set yet
Acne skin and oily pits around his nose
He didn't have that same searching stance
Now I could see he no longer cared
Now he was ready to fight.

His fingers yellowed by cigarette smoke
His fingernails filled with dirt and grease
As was the collar of his shirt
Shoelaces broken then re-tied
With a knot covering the shoes leather tongue
His own tongue tucked behind thin lips
And decaying teeth.

Many years have since passed
As I happened to see his reflection
In the passing of a store front glass
Except, now I see...
He was, and has always been... Me.