The Voice of the Wounded

Novelty noises come out of your mouth.
Slanderous sentences flow like a coursing river.
Treacherous terrain lies in front of you.
Piercing pronunciations perplex my daily life.
Bastardly boys struggling to be dominant.
Malicious members menace my mind.
Cowardly communication leaves you coming back for more.
Dastardly drama draws in the heartbreak.
Abnormal applause brings you the fame you desire.
Unfathomable uproar resounds through the cafeteria.
This was almost every year of my schooling.
Chaotic classrooms continued to grow out of control.
Then, it happened.
The rebellion began.
I never thought it would turn out like this.
I would walk down the solemn hall of the school to safely avoid the ruffians.
And then, they'd find me.
Salty sweat seeped from my pores.
All the gangster boys watching the show with their whores.
Most of the students skip school and chill in the stores,
But there they are.
Standing in front of me with fists locked tight like a mental institution,
Pants lower than the Edwards aquifer during a drought,
Tattoos scattered all over your weakling arms.
You think you can fight,
but your talk is bigger than your bite.
Then, my light in business casual walks into the picture.
The fight is broken,
The final words were spoken.
Then I get a token.
It's a reminder of the beating to come.
The cursing that they'll cast.
The foreshadow of my long run home.
With a busted lip,
A fractured hip,
A shattered rib cage,
And a body that doesn't reflect my age,
I walked into my safe place.
Four walls,
A roof,
A family that cares for me,
I enter my home.
They run to me.
Two brothers in tears,
And my mother's fears walked in that door.
Her little boy is literally broken.
Running, with time as slow as molasses,
And the want to beat some little boys asses.
The thrashes caused some wounds that would never heal.
The scars are permanent.
The pain, although, was all just a blur.
Then, the after effects kick in.
Bruises arise,
and my skin gets a midnight blue.
Do you have any clue?
Why am I in this predicament?
Here's the deal,
I'm weak.
I'm not like the rough boys.
I'm pretty much skin and bones,
I'm not like them, I don't have a phone with the newest update.
Was this supposed to be my fate?
To get served, and be left with the rusting plate?
Take beatings every day without a way
To settle all the pain built up on my skin and bones,
and in my walls of stone
To guard my heart,
And retain the art and creativity
That lives inside of me.
I just need to be what they expect of me and I will be free!
Why me?
Sitting in the bathroom,
My mother tends to my wounds.
Peroxide burning my skin as it cleans all the dirt.
Mom! It hurts! Stop!
Hun, it's for the best.
Trust me!
I love you, I say.
Then she replies,
The feeling is mutual.
Swimming in a super deep pool,
I feel like I'm going to drown,
and that's when they knock me down...again.
Who?
Who could hate me so much for nothing that I did?
Bullies! That's who!
Shout out to those who suffered through it all.
Been there, and done that,
But, just like Goliath, they will fall.
All it takes is a stone, preferably small one.
This is mine.
Watch as it creates a ripple effect.
Who's next?

This poem is about: 
My community
Guide that inspired this poem: 

Comments

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. Keep expressing your heart.  

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