I still remember the funny boy next door,
Who had a pretty head.
Of chocolate brown hair divine from afar,
Streaked with sunshine red.
He was taller than the mountain pine,
And absurdly greener than most.
The pretentious swagger and blue fedora,
The scoop of vanilla with French toast.
The roguish smirk did steal many hearts.
But they never could touch mine.
The cute hoodies and rebel denims,
Couldn’t hide the polka dot lover inside.
A sultry salsa at the kitchen counter.
A contagious foxtrot in the shower.
I overheard his Aretha Franklin tributes,
And his secret Streisand power.
The boy at home wasn’t the boy outside,
I didn’t understand his stupid act.
The half-hearted, reckless bicycle stunts,
Couldn’t change the simple fact.
Michael, Michael, poor sweet Michael,
What most did fail to see.
He was so much more, than your average boy,
He was so much more to me.
His theatrics made me laugh all day,
Funnier than gangsta tales, so tall.
The lovely pieces of self-portraits,
More brazen than graffiti on a wall.
I’ll say this, to the coward boy
He didn’t have the courage to sing.
The song that he wrote, the one he composed,
The one that was essentially him.
Days went by, and things didn’t change,
The caterpillar crawled along.
With no intention to find its’ wings,
Or break into a simple song.
It happened, when I had lost all hope,
And indeed, he had too-
When he fell for the girl next door,
Who saw him clear and true.
Love taught him what was right,
It taught him what should be.
It taught him what was worth the pain,
And what it meant to be free.
Free from the need to show,
The world what it wanted to see,
A dancing boy, with a marshmallow heart,
Is beauty, according to me.
Michael finally learnt to sing,
And now, I’m afraid he won’t stop
He sings to his heart’s content (then some more)
Inside and out, around the clock.
Michael, Michael, the adorable Michael,
What most did fail to see,
I’m glad we were neighbours, I bless the next door
Which has become so much more to me.