Oldie.

The Shield
Age 12.

Deep beneath my faithful shield,

My battle-wounds have yet to heal,
I cry, I lie, I've yet to die,
And still it seems the best in me,
Is often hidden in a plea,
Not to be alone,

That's not for me.

But forever more I'll be alone,
While others live in happy homes,
Where people don't just scream and yell,
And home is not compared to Hell.