Mom pointed out this poem seems to come out of the blue. True. Just playing with writing and reflection.

In 5th-8th grades I was severely bullied. Sad it happened but I’m ok. But it had a huge impact on my life and who I am today.

So writing…reflecting.

Bully Immune

Memories bring me cold.
The despair.
The fears.
The laughter, the cruelty, the loneliness.
You watched in silence.
You forgot I was a child.

Did you care?
Did you see them stare?
Trip, target, and laugh?
Why did you turn your back?
You must have seen.
You must have known.

Me with the locker open
and the hecklers yelling my name.
I asked for help.
I called to you.
Stared with pleading eyes.
You looked away, ashamed. Of me. Of them. Of you.

Did you care?
When they tripped me in front of all?
When they called me fat, or four-eyes, or dumb?
When they called me unspeakable names?
You ignored me.
My misery. Their childish cruelty. 

You saw me work at my desk,
ignoring the others.
You saw me struggle,
gain weight. But grow into a shadow of my former self.
You saw my shoulders fall.
And my heart-break.

Did it make it better
for you to blame me?
-the gum thrown in the hair or
for the gashes in my leg-
Did it make you stronger?
To look away from those who tormented?

I sat alone at lunches,
avoided the others.
You never stopped to say,
“Hello” or “You matter”.
The only times I mattered to the others
is when I could provide something new.

I was a game.
They taunted me.
They did it whenever I walked into your room.
Did you care?
No. It was easier to look away.
Easier to ignore.

I see my scars.
Inside, the child within
terrified of rejection. Of being seen.
I see the scar across my leg.
The one from hatred,
from a child like me.

You didn’t care.
It was easier not to stare.
Easier to hide, ignore, pretend.
Easier to get lost at the board.
Or behind the door.
Pretending not to see.

And here I am.
Today. An adult. On my own two feet.
I’m okay, I’m strong. I’m alive.
Yet pieces of me forever lost.
But I see you now. Your fear. More than  my own.