A/N: Here you go Tristan! Your Luc Rousseau poem! In his POV, no less.
Someday
I lay on the ground, blood coming from a cut.
Was bullied again for my intelligence and kicked in the gut.
Instead of helping me, the teachers walk away.
Languishing, I hope for my consciousness to stay.
Long ago, I was treated as their own.
Gone is that time, and now I'm alone.
Anyway, you should know more about me.
I'm Luc, short for Lucas,
and I'm not at all freaky.
Never mind what the others say, I want to fit in.
Red fire is my spirit, and white pearl is my grin.
Even when they hit me, my smile stays firm.
So is my way to hide, my lack of pain can confirm
Perfect is my mask of happiness, not pain
Even when I hurt, I know one day I'll gain
Confidence to speak, and power and fame
Today may not be it, but soon they'll feel shame.