A/N: Harry Potter has to have the most messed up life of any character I have known to exist. And he just... accepts it. This is a little something for him.
There's a story about a boy,
a wonderful boy that people didn't quite understand.
They never had to walk a day in his shoes.
They don't know how he turned into such a brave, brave man.
He was the boy who had no one to hold on to,
the boy who stared at his parents graves and lost the will to live.
The boy with the ghosts who screamed in his mind,
the boy who had to take more than he could ever give.
The shadows used to whisper their secrets
and he called the spiders in his cupboard by name.
He was a little boy who was neglected -
He thought he deserved it, that he was to be ashamed.
He lived under the stairs for ten years -
he was hated, andbeaten, and he bled.
He was the type of boy who would chase tornadoes down the alley,
just to caught up in a whirlwind outside of his head.
The type of boy who didn't dream of tomorrow,
but had nightmares of the living and the dead.
The type of boy who cried for who he had to become,
he couldn't help how the darkness around had spread.
Because the storm was only beginning,
but this boy was drenched by regret.
He was blinded by the hazy cloud surrounding his being.
He was the boy who remembered because he couldn't forget.
When the lightning striked it sizzled his soul,
because the truth was slapping him with each gust of wind -
he could conquer dark wizards, dragons, and even a troll,
but he couldn't handle the demons within.
He had no mother, no father, no brother, no sister.
He felt no such love, no such belonging, no such freedom -
He had been wrecked by the vile and the cruel and the heartless and sinister.
His people did not await his kingdom.
He was such a whirl of emotions; such a natural disaster,
that even the skies would cry for him.
He tried to run longer and stronger and better and faster -
but he couldn't outrun his sins.
It wasn't his fault, you see.
He had a dirty soul stuck inside.
A mad wizard had made a home in his body,
and he had to fight him to survive.
It would have been easier, to just float away and (hide).
It's the reason why so many lost people drown.
Being pulled away by the ocean's tide,
they (seek) not wanting to be found.
But he wanted to smile so wide that it reached other people,
that it grabbed them and let them f l y.
He wanted his heart to beat outside his body,
so that everyone could see hope with their very own eyes.
Until then, he waited to be swept away.
Until then, it poured and it poured.
He got thrown down on his knees and even tried to pray.
Then he knocked, and his enemy opened the door.
He was ready to jump into the fire.
To burn with it, knowing it was for a reason to transform.
It was his purpose, the world's desire -
so that everyone else could be kept warm.
So he wandered calmly into the forest,
as his lost family walked him to his death.
He closed his eyes to not see the flash of green light
that would take away his final breath.
He was raised like a pig for the slaughter,
the teenager who was a scrawny, specky git.
His name was Harry James Potter.
The Boy Who Lived survived, and he paid for it.
