I feel like there is a wall.
But this wall is different—it has
Two Sides.

The wall is a divider—the bullies
And the victim.
To the bullies, the wall is made of bricks.
Making their jabs unfelt when they want it to.
They think the knives they hold,
Won’t be deadly till they release them
Onto their victim.
But this wall they so believe in—it has
Two Sides.

To the victim, the wall is made of glass.
They can see,
Hear,
Smell,
Taste,
And feel
The ugliness being spread.
Everyday, day after day,
Month after month,
Year after year and
Life after life.
The rhythmic timing of audible mouths,
Spewing out the vile words.
It’s loud, heard from everywhere.
Whether the Bird or Mirror Image—
It’s heard.
The smell of perfume masking musk,
Seeps over the walls.
The victim taste—is not there.
The feeling as the front moves,
Is not existent.
The victims’ heart has to choose between—
Two Sides.

Get up, Stand up I say.
Wreck the wall, for it really isn’t there.
It is not there.
Stand up for yourself.
Spike the tires of the truck.
Take their wheels out.
For a car cannot move without wheels—
It cannot run over a victim’s heart.
To the bullies, reflect on your own insecurities
Before you try to exploit another’s because
They’re more put together than you.
To the victim, never let the bullies decide between the
Two Sides.