Bullied

June 28, 2011
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I am: insert what I used to be.
I wonder if my parents notice, hear an empty hallow inside of me.
I hear words regurgitating at the bottom of their throat. The venom is about to release.
I see flash backs of my pervious victim roles.
I want this alarm in my head to subside.
They stride up to me, and give me the option of suicide.

I am the beast itself.
I pretend like pain is myself help.
I feel like the crowd can’t argue with me, go against me.
I touch something that’s been broken by me.
I worry that jail is my next chapter, my next paragraph.
I cry because…I’m unable to laugh.

I am the ambulance, the principal, the faculty, and the student body.
I understand I’ve witnessed a statistic.
I say it’s wrong to bully, but lets be realistic.
I dream that I won’t be the one in this situation.
I try to avoid any human manipulation.
I hope that this poor soul won’t become fertilization.

I am that soul…who’s body is disseminated.
They say there’s too much blood, too much damaged.
My parents are on a rampage, but I don’t care.
I take in my last sight, and I see it.
The beast’s last glare…at me.





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