The Class Clown To look is to see a mask. A child cauing havoc, mischief at first glance. The one who likes to cause problems, The one who likes to use his fists at first chance. He's just an angry, young boy. Volatile. Dangerous. 'Not worth the effort when there's plenty of children that want to learn...' I've heard those words a thousand times, It makes my stomach turn. He's misunderstood and judged, By the people who are supposed to lend a helping hand. He is the class clown to those who don't know him, But I think it's time we rose up and helped people understand. It may be for the attention, But not the kind most people assume. At home, he's battered, bruised but alone. There's things he does, things he sees. He's from a typical broken home. The mask he wears in the classroom Protects from the fears he faces each day. He's cried. He's screamed. He's broken many things. But nobody... Nobody sees him that way.