bad poetry

About a little boy who was hurt in the worst way.
And when I tell the story to my friend,
In the end
He shakes his head and walks away.
“It wasn’t me,” he said.
“It wasn’t me.”
No matter what you want to think, it wasn’t me.

Thinking back through all these years
And holding on through all the tears
I wanted so bad to be the one
But when all was said and done
It wasn’t me,
It wasn’t me.
No matter how hard I wished for it to be, it wasn’t me.