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Sticks and Stones
Fat ass I’d hear the words bounce along the halls as though it were a fragment of light playing amongst many mirrors
***** I read from a note passed along this Underground Railroad you call a school
Nasty, retarded, faggot.
Yes, even with crying to teachers, seeing counselor after counselor, going to support groups and depression treatments.
In today’s “all excepting, zero tolerance” a vibrant soul is crushed with the tons of hate that thrash at her arms and legs cutting into the thin flesh of a tissue paper girl
She’s the girl who misses school because she can’t handle the sticks and stones because they are breaking her bones one throw at a time.
She cries out to an empty room splattered in her self-hate for not being pretty enough.
She dreams of drawing her sword on her enemies just to turn it on herself removing the layers of too fat.
She’s a coward. Making mountains of molehills she hears from yet another advisor as he slaps her assailants on the wrist and she watches the murderous Hun just return to class.
Nothing happened.
Stick and stones may break her bones but no one listens to the bones snap.
Everyone turns a blind eye to the razors she dodges just trying to get to class.
Because sticks and stones will break my bones but words will be carved on the walls of my mind.
Way less painful. Right?
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