When Beauty Blooms

How does a child grow up from being bullied? How does a girl that was longing to be part of something bigger? How does she learn how to speak? How does she still open her heart open for other?  Death seemed to linger with her as she grew more and more. From an early age, she experienced discrimination of how she was learning. “She’s too slow she’s not reaching the curb she needs to.” Her parents found themselves getting her evaluated which was determined she has Asperger's syndrome. Once the parents found out, they never disclosed or told her about her neurological decision. As time and time grew on, she entered a giant school. The school was cold and forlorn filled with solemnness. It was here that things took a major turn for the worse.   

School was supposed to be a haven, a place where children were free from care be with friends and learn about subjects. For the young girl, this was more like a prison or a hell described in the Bible she was forced to carry by her nuns. Each year, she had a bully that made fun of her for parts of her body. Desperately, she kept on trying to find a safe place in the school yard. Sports, after school activities and clubs run by teachers and students denied her access to all. This is how she first experienced loneliness. Not only did students bully her, but as did her teachers. Words like “pig”, ‘fatty”, “desolate child”, “troublemaker” and “demonic” were pinned to her name. On occasions, she was degraded constantly, physically hurt and was always determined by her teachers to fail her. As a way of escape, she called sick or tell the nurse she threw up. Occasionally, it would work, but other times she drew blueprints of how to escape the school.   

One day, there was incident regarding a teacher's child the girl pumped into her and somehow ripped her hangnail off. Immediately, she was called into the principal's office where she was to be expelled for a “crime” she committed. Then, she snapped. When she was picked up, she uttered not a word, but went straight inside to her room. She looked up at the ceiling fan and grabbed a jack. Swiftly, she tied the jacket around her neck and the length of it around the blade. Tears and flashes of her memories flashed before her. Breathing heavily, she sobbed loudly and wrote a note detailing of her deed she was bound to commit. Thankfully, her mom walked in and untied the jacket around her neck and ceiling fan. Finally, throughout the pain she endured, she was free. As she left, she was left with skin deep scars marked on her left forearm.   

Despite her escape she was left with deep marks not only physically, but on her heart and mind she endured damage. No matter what she did, she pushed and pushed. With every breath of the damage she endured, she wanted death to take her, but a force was driving her. Yes, she was a mess of broken dreams and ocean of uncertainty that didn’t mean she didn’t succeed. Slowly, she learned to gather a voice. Singing helped her escape a reality; a reality where she was load full of responsibilities taking care of a mother that only knew work and a brother that struggled talking or looking her of her mother in the eye. Through every fall, she raised to her feet feeling stronger with the dearest friends she made. At times, her demons would win and at times. Through every fall, she raised to her feet feeling stronger with the dearest friends she made. At times, her demons would win and at times she could write her emotions or sing them out or dance  to relieve her demons.   

That girl was me and I stand now in my place breathing and finding myself in meditation and wanting to learn more. As I write this, yes, I feel unconformable, but unashamed. Do I feel pain writing this out? To be honest, I do, but I’ve learned that it's easier to let it go than bottle in emotions of sorrow, depression or pain in my heart. There’s a lot I’ve learned from my bullying and my experiences. I suffered injustice by verbal abuse of those who are meant to protect a life and meant to teach me right and wrong, a system so corrupted by those with wealth that they can bend and shape rules to their pleasing and trust no one truly. My injustice comes from the fact I put trust into people I thought were supposed to protect me. Confucius explained you treat others the way you wanted to be treated and respect the elders or your teachers. Back then, I didn’t realize what it meant since I was torn by grief and deep emotional pain. From the perspective of the injustices I experienced, it’s nothing compared to how a race was utterly treated like slaves and treated less than a human being. Even those who’ve suffered from injustice must fight it with love.  

Violence is never the answer for injustice. From the words of Martin Luther King, “Stick with love rather than hate.” Silence isn’t the answer either as in terms of making a change of injustices either. For there to be change, you must learn about how bad you want justice. I believe change comes from accepting the pain you’ve experienced to bloom. My injustices made me bloom beautiful orchids of vibrant people in my life, determination and love I’ve received from those who’ve been there for me. I learned to live, love and try to be there for those who’ve experienced injustices like me. So, the question you may ask; how is my mentors? My friends I’ve made along the way and teachers that pushed me to the point I thought I should quit.  The people that were there for me pushed me to be myself and taught me to be free. I’ve learned to be a mentor to others with the pain I’ve experienced to stand tall, shout from the rooftops and be a beacon of light to those.  

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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