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bully
Contributed by
poeticjestix
on
Saturday, 17th December 2011 @ 03:18:36 PM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
I am a wall of self-loathing and doubt
with gingerbread bricks, and marzipan mortar
I tried, but It didn’t take long for it to begin
for soon the kids found out
and my lie was exposed.
a sickly-sweet rubble
picked at by sweet toothed assassins.
examined was I
By those eyes
those hard, disappointed eyes.
All relieved by the comfort that this little I
Was less of a man
And I knew not to try,
Mere fancy would hide in this poor, masochistic fool
the laughing stock of the school.
My nemesis,
each pair of eyes, finding their way
to pierce my soul in binocular jabs
rendering me useless
five columns by six rows go back
but never retreat
ready for attack...
I only know defeat.
A comment is made and they look for reaction
I feel my inaction,
my arms go so weak
And my eyes cannot gaze.
Anxiety enters the room at the left
As the clock ticks, but all I hear is my own thumping
echoing all, shattering senses
but these bastards scream and shout, oblivious
as they bathe in the translucent fat rendered waste
and the heat is turned up
I can’t erase each icy cold moment
As the threads are severed in calculated disharmony
they revel in those tiny, unsaid actions that decide the hierarchy in any situation.
A game I just don't understand. Their entertainment astounds me
Paralyzed, as my bones are picked by the hunted, now hunters-
Letting out exuberant anger at their own compromise filled existence.
I lack persistence
whatever the distance
or angle
I can only cope with this thing without coping
I swear soon that I will be needing a rope
And I’ll swing
No longer remember a thing, nor be remembered
Nor be a stain on my name
Such cruel luck
That this soft soapy *****
Is called Mr. Savage.
on a good day
Grave’s spin
Bell rings, it's not quite break
so the tag team exchange high fives and low voices
for these ones are older
they’re heavier, bolder,
altogether colder
Head teacher?
I told her I needed a break...
My mistake.
I used to have dreams, I had failed as a preacher
They made me a teacher
My character wavered
I could not build bridges
Was too fond of fridges
I ate my despair at my lacking of hair
amongst other things.
Yet I dreamed that one day
That they would think good of me.
What a fool
Bags kicked, door slammed ,next lesson= history
(if only)
With Mr. Kenyon.
A real man, a teacher
He’s not a fake
A placebo
A dud
Or a ***** mistake.
I despair….
Though there’s one thing I’ll share
A crumb of comfort in a kicked in cake tin.
I am of use in a way that's not so easy to see
for whilst they have me
A diversion exists.
For the bullied can rest
knowing I’ll take a bullet
For each ugly mullet
Or cross-eye
Or fatty
Or Weedy
Or scar face
Or burnt chest
Or withery with vest
or hole in heart
legs apart whore.
I'll take a bullet
Quietly seizing the moment
a crescendo is reached.
What might be lost?
heat turns to frost
as taut is wound too tight to teach...
I take the bullet amidst all the poisonous sniggers
and they all press the trigger.
Copyright ©
poeticjestix
... [
2011-12-17 15:18:36]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: bully
(User Rating: 1 )
by emystar on
Saturday, 17th December 2011 @ 04:14:22 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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Very sad but great writing.
blessings,
emy |
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Re: bully
(User Rating: 1 )
by angelus8663 on
Saturday, 17th December 2011 @ 05:27:03 PM AEST
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a Message)
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| Powerful poem and very well written. good job |
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