The Bully
You all know the type,
The one that picks on you
Because you're different....
At school it was because I had freckles,
I had red hair and a single mother
I was smart, the top of my class
People who wore second hand clothes
Weren't meant to be clever
I was intelligent yes, but naive
Went to church with my grandparents
While mum slept off her hangover
Walked blindly through life
Not understanding bias or cruelty
I trusted everyone without question
And when they hurt me
The confusion stung more than the bruises
What were they trying to do?
Bash me into not being a redhead?
Smack me into being stupid?
I walked home from school crying
With busted lips and torn clothes
Wondering why I had even been born
Cursed with a mind that wouldn't stop
And a heart that felt too much
So I locked myself in my room daily
With an old lined school book
The used pages carefully removed
Center staple pressed back down
And I wrote my plight out, line by line
Tears streaming down my cheeks
Blotting the paper, blurring my vision
I wrote, for all that I was worth
Decades later, part of me is still the same
My mind still does not stop, nor my heart
But I understand that people judge me
By their own standards, not mine
The ugly they see isn't mine either
I have taken the abuse, physical and mental
Wrestled with my mind, the logic, lack of,
I'm ok with me, and the bully will never win
Poetry by Purple Phoenix
Read 761 times
Editors' choice
Written on 2009-12-22 at 03:03
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