Dirty white socks

October 7, 2017
By JustineMarissa BRONZE, Santa Paula, California
JustineMarissa BRONZE, Santa Paula, California
3 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Never compare your chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20

A child's mind can be easily molded into whatever the artist wants to create.
A child's mind can also be destroyed by a  demolitions man.
In this case a child's mind was imprisoned by three moronic judges who held a trail against a 6 year old for having dirty white socks.
Yes being persecuted for a piece of clothing that is 90 percent of the time covered by shoes.
The judges stood on a podium that ranked their superiority on one another.
I only the defendant, gazed upon their presence in fear of their attack on my actions.
In the time it took me to prepare myself for judgement, my body was drenched from anxiety.
My face wet from fear, my neck dripping showers of panic creating a pool of terror similar to that of sweat.
I wore my white socks that day.
To my knowledge my socks were snow and not ash from the fire the three judges set off.
The white wool hugged by toes with warmth and comfort.
The same warmth and comfort my mother gave me when she held me at night to stop the flow of tears.
The tears brought up by the initiation of acceptance into a group no different than I.
Like lions their voices roared and echoed inside the courthouse.
I took my first step onto the podium, but quickly slipped from the sweat that coated my feet.
In an instant the roars that welcomed me matched the sound of hyenas dying of laughter.
My feet shot up off the ground and locked their vision from noticing I had sprung a leak in my eyes.
The trial had begun.
Though I expected the cruel words to be focused on my ideas and or actions, they choose to judge me based on a piece of clothing.
Because apparently the color of my socks showed you who I was as a person.
Black dust and brown dirt that painted the bottom of my socks showed you I am nothing but filth and trash.
As if the soles of my feet and the soul inside my heart somehow aligned.
The color of my socks shouldn't depict the type of human I am.
If I run around in dirty white socks, that shouldn't cause you to alienate me,
If my brain and heart were covered in dirt and poisoned the way I think, then you have the right to evaluate me.
But still you discriminate me solely on the color of my socks, Because who are you to judge me on the coat of my skin when we both wear the same color?

The author's comments:

I was bullied as a kid for having dirty white socks. Funny, huh? You'd think I'd be bullied for my skin or religion. But no. My socks. 

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