It bled often, the tree that took our flying kicks
We learned from kung fu movies 
Rallying us against bullies 
Who grow on weakness we couldn’t afford
At recess with our cheap sneakers 
That don’t swoop the cool way.
We bled often, leaning against the tree
Nursing the scars of our anger
And the tears of our failure
To at least blend in 
If never accepted as one of them.
This tree in the corner they forced us to
Was where we promised each other
We’d dare demand our fair share,
Pushing back the unjust line
They drew in the playground sand
We grew up in, but to them didn’t look it.
So on the Friday of us fighting back,
I ran over to our tree
Where you, sporting brand-new shoes,
Stood with them we meant to stand up to.
You looked away
As our only chance collapsed to bury me
Under punches and stomps of spite
Trying to get past my arms I wrapped tight
Around this memory that bled often.