Tag Archives: Bullied

Worthmont High

It stands

beneath the limbs and

merriments

the canter call of

time

its bricks reach up towards

multi memoried

skies

as intrepid feet

lean forward

push onward

skuttle backwards

laugh and mingle tears

within its soul;

It stands.

It stands

amongts the triumph

and struggle

its cold stone veins

leading the just and

the mightly defeated

in ordered hours

and lingered speeches

in the pursuit of

knowledge

the pursuit of gain;

it stands.

It stands

in silence

a witness to her shuffle

his hesitation

her fixation

his motivation

her courage

his redemtion

to Monday callings

and thursday maulings

to Tuesdays lastness

and Friday’s madness

it stands.

It stands

as its voice goes unnoticed

its brick notes and

roof top melodies

linger a testiment

unspoken to the fortitude

of perserverance

and the suppliment of

faith

For in these halls

little souls stand

and she makes sure

she never falters

never gives sway

for all the comings

and goings of a day

the black the blue

colbalt and shrew

madness and

due of tears

she stands.

For someday

when hands stop lingering

over plastered walls

and paint stops mending

the cracks and fall

ing spaces

when voices stop

and doors weld shut

she will be remembered

for the words

emblazoned on her skin

 

“Knowleldge is found

with open hearts, clasped hands,

and couragous spirits”

 

and

She stands.

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Who is Wesley?

Part 2 to Wesley’s Words

The face was circled
to near perfection
in faded red
on black and white
with the words
‘what is a life’
written pain
stak
ing
ly
small along the white
edge
neither mingling
meandering nor merging
with the photo paper’s
story
but filling Mason’s head
driving his hands
veined with hours
of plays, throws
and connections
to waver over glass
trace the words
to perfection
and wonder
what is a life…
…what is a life?

The circled
young boy
stared out from
hundreds
other faces
eyes seeing places
and dreams of
the future
so obvious
was the obliviousness
of this
young man
as if his dreams
were so far out
there was no
light
no future
reflecting back.
then the words
what is a life…
…what is a life?
came slamming back

Coach was old
his words made no sense
nonsense
figure it out
figure what out?!
why, how
when?
This is ridiculous!
Mason didn’t need
this…

What is a life?

The picture hastily
shoved to precariously
to haphazardly
tossed to the
edge
to the edge…
crashing smashing
tumbling down
from the bedside
to the ground
in pieces
frame and bits
lay more than just
a photo graph
a softer edge
lay unearthed
from tomb of wood
and glass.

LOCAL BOY
DEAD.
Five teens where
questioned in the
death of a local boy
this evening.
A call tipped off police
to patrol the area
off of 5th and Grand.
A scream
A scuffle
A muffled
brawl? perhaps.
The line went dead.
the operator said
The line went dead.
The five men
remain in custody.
Names withheld
due to the sensi-
tivity
of crime
and time
but sources suspect…
a sixth.

Mason skipped the rest.
Local boy, dead.
his age
ripped from a page
of yesterday
lived on the other
side of tracks
with
a nobody no letter no jacket
no money no future
no life
no life cuz
he’s dead.
Found with a pink barrette
clutched in his hand
and F@66%7
scrawled on his back
in indelible ink
to obviously sink more meaning
as his attackers
tattooed their
judgement into
his black and
blue
skin.

what is a life?

An article 30 days later
stapled
and worn
confirmed a sinking
suspicion
The 5 were part of the
Local High 6.
but no proof
no
ev-i-dence
no recollection
or defection
of witnesses
no sense of right
or wrong
no candle light vigil
no memento or
mournful sigil to mark
the young life passing
by.
Even this passage
was relegated in
subterranean
cache
just above the lottery
numbers
page 8
where this hate
ful incident
and
obstruction of
a justice-less life
for
Wesley
was left
to be forgotten
as if it would be
forgotten
and
it was…
save by one.

and
Mason kept on
tracing the words
in his head

What is a life?
What is a life… 
worth.

911 TRANSCRIPT – May 7th, 1969
Police Operator 2472
What’s your emergency?

{{Whispers}}

5th and Grand
a scuffle, fight, a boy down.

What is the location?

5th and GRAND!

{{typing}}

5th and G.R.A.N.D?

YES!

{{TYPING}}

What’s your name?

My name? I.. um… Mar…
Damnit man
You have to send
someone?
like now!

{{typing}}

Can I have you name son?

{{more typing}}

Sir,  Let me get your …
Sir are you there?……………
sir…….
hello?……

Wesley’s Words

His days are numbered

cumbered and layerd

with vice

well whithered hours

mix with sour

moments believed

to be lost

and he wonders

if the price was

worth the cost.

His hands lay bare

tattered and worn

from gageing to

wiring, saddles

and thorn

as they cast

credit on framed

fame

ages gone

his was the life to be

grand

now he sits in empty stands

waiting for the field

to blossom with fierce

beasts

claw, talon, and shields

but sometimes he wonders

why he is here.

His, wife is beautifuly

aging, she works in

the office

mingles the

papers

His children are grown

some forgot

some known

all are proudly his and

most would say

he’s everyone’s trust

But he wonders

has it

been enough.

Most days he

lectures morning

tradition of wood, shop

and farthing

lingers in hallways

leather on paved

doorways

After the noon

he picks up the skin

and teaches

what it takes to win

but what are they winning

when the timer is up

when the moment of luck

wears out and

all they have

is looking at them selves.

As fading features

fade farther under glass

pondering

will he say enough.

Will he

say

enough.

 

Coach….  Coach… 

we’re ready….

 

Stumble, tumble,

meander and maze

he takes a breath in

as words work on

the way

out of his mind into

the air, held for a

second on tongue

cheek and hair

before diving

in.

 

“We

suffer this field

day in

day out

we bleed for the ‘Mater

the glory and crowd.

We tramble those

who dare to engage

we revel in

glory

or languish when

halls of great men

call others to their side.

We wear colors and letters

with pride

but…”

His conjuntion lending

silence a nod

as he looks to

the glowing board for

council and pause

as almost men

wait

they… wait

 

“but what is worth a life

if that life does not find

life worthy?

You are not just warriors

you are leaders and

take care

those you trample should

ONLY be out HERE!

The halls and ways

of the walls of our

days hold our

souls they are the

same, different

scuffle, shadows

of forgotten shoes

they are less and more

rich and poor

they are

you

they are your charges

not stones to be kicked

not boards for bantering

your bitting wit

Not the conquest of your

smaller mind

not the details found

on cheaper wine

they are your concern

care and court

they give weight to

your sport

for if they did not

exist

your worthy game

would not be

worth

playing…

am I making sense?

Treat that place

as what you protect

not what you pillage

because what you pillage

may come to haunt

you…. when time

clock and luck

run out.”

 

He tosses the ‘back

the worn out frame

one face circled

in the crowd of

hundreds.

And inquisitive faces

return nothing

as coach’s

back

fading.

 

“Figure it out

see you at

practice

on Tuesday.”

Fire for Sam

She paces with

cadance, attention

and hesitate

in polished shoes

and polished smile

waits

her hands fiddle

with paper pointed pens

eyes lingering over

when

she sat in the desk

just to the left

of wonderment

and infront of

never going to make it

but she made it.

And it is then the

world shift begins

The bell rings

in

a distant past

a mind of 12

and a heart of glass

she scuttled here

every day

in the every way

getaway life

of a nothing girl

the invisible world

of not bad enough

nor good enough

for anyone to notice

a slip through the cracks

girl

a lingering spirit world

girl of just inside doorways

and subsequently out of way

when the Others

paraded by.

Even teachers

professors and mighty

persons failed to

figure her out for

more than a mously

girl with mousely hair

but… fate has a way

of hearing prayers…

fate has a way

of knowing the hearts

of even the smallest

whisper

and her whisper came

in the form of

Ms. Setaworldonfire!

She gleamed when she walked

into the room

a sense of pride

the newly doomed teacher

of English Comp 104

she

swayed to the back and forth

with a smile lingered

on hope and expectation

and plans

of great things

from each and

every

including Sam.

Could it be possible

one soul could reach out

of the darkness

see into the light

what every other eye

had dismissed

diminished by lack of

attention?

Could it be possible

for one hand to write

out the lines of a spark

so sharp

to start a fire in the

places called hopeless

and redefine the meaning

of maybe into a dream

of possibilities?

She straightened herself as

the clock stroked close to 7:50

the sounds of lockers slamming

doorways jamming

the smattering mattering

morphology of the life of school

transforming a building into

a world all its own

and living

began to breath.

Sam began to breath.

As one foot

two then three

until there were more than

thirty

Her smile

lingered back and forth

with expectation

fire made plans

that started in a desk

just to the right of wonderment

and just in front of

never going to make it

but she did.

“My name is Samantha…

This is English Comp 104. 

Yes please, shut the door… 

Shall we begin?”

Kissing Danielle

She keeps to herself

the days linger over

each other in series

of rises and sets

of studies and tests

she is never

really sure if she

is giving her best

and while ‘friends’ gather

near lockers and rooms

she looms

in the background

while she

smiles in the forground

watching

the other pass by

the worn out clothes

slothing shoes

revolving door ways

made for breaking

black and blues

and knows

if they ever

found out

if

ever found

out

She would be

hurrled into a

world of shattering words

shattering bones

shattering this visage

so carefully wrought

thought and messaged

even she wasn’t sure

it wasn’t the truth

it wasn’t the

truth

truth is

every day she sees her

softly walking

talking and meandering

through the blurs of

faces her face is clear

and when she gets near

the

summer sun finds

no shadow

sound finds no

rafters to

beat from

it’s as if the entire

world has fastforwarded

into a slow down

and the camera

is souly devoted

to a downward spiral

until the only image

is her brown eyes

and

then

she

sees

……. for a heart beat

crap! did everyone see?

did everyone know?

they say it gets better

but she is no so sure

because all she wants

to do is scream

I AM NOT WHO I

PRETEND TO BE!

No

she wants

to linger in the follow

of her hearts content

play with a force

of first loves commitment

stand on the precipice of

prom in two dresses

hold hands in the court

of dramaless masses

and be free from

this resereved

stagnated and barely controled

lung forward and speak out

compel

and just not be

afraid

of kissing Danielle

but

if they knew

if they

knew

like brown eyes

did

everything would

be over.

so she

keeps to herself

the days linger over

each other in series

of rises and sets

of studies and tests

she is never

really sure if she

is giving her best

and while ‘friends’ gather

near lockers and rooms

she looms

in the background

while she

smiles in the forground

watching

the other pass by

watching

the other

pass

by.

Charlie’s smile

He mumbles

when he talks

the

wound of his voice

barely reaches the floor

as he searches for

escapes out

on his way down the hall

in too high jeans

and a belt

anchoring him to self

so he doesn’t slip

out of

place.

His hands grip books

covers and shields

deflecting the

pushes, punches

and wielded words

sharper than edges

of the door way

he often finds

himself greeting

every Monday

and Wednesday

at 8:05.

He is brilliant

in his mental

meanderings

of geometry

calculus

and science

his

mind sees puzzles like

diamonds to be

polished

clear and bright

as the bruises he

hides from the

inevitable trip

to the bathroom

trip

to the bathroom

trip in the bathroom

he just tripped

and

he doesn’t complain

he keeps up appearances

as the soles of his feet

keep account of

the days till

he can stand

straighter

be handsome…er

be

important

because

his mother says

he will be

and right now he

still believes her

even as the waves

of every suck the wind

you don’t get in today

you must be gay

because no girl

would want you

lingers at the gate

of his educational

hell

the bell

is

ringing

in his ears on the way

home and if

he walks a little faster

if he

catches the right

canter, carry and case

the Thursday Crew

won’t give chase

the

Thursday crew won’t

chase

wont

chase…

He just tripped in

the bathroom…

And His eyes are blue

like the ocean

in berm-u-da

so

his mother says

as she asks

him each morning

to keep his

head up

and smile,

the world will smile

back

but…

she doesn’t

know…

today is Monday.

It’s Monday…

and

He”ll just trip

in the bathroom.

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I want to shed a poetic light on abuse, in-equality, and bullying.  It is one thing I can do in my every day life to help make a difference.  You can too, by sharing a piece here that speaks to you to someone that may need to hear it.  Or if nothing else, visit one of the organizations I support like Over My Shoulder FoundationThe L-ProjectDiversity Role Models, Trevor Project, and Give a Damn Campaign.

Reach out today and make a difference in the life of someone who can’t. You will find the weight of love, the burden of friendship, and the plight of forgiveness is more joyful than the lightness of forget, the sweetness of popular, or the treasure of perfection.

The Life of Bea

She walks with shuffle

cuffle and flop

in worn out shoes

and worn out tops

her hands are small

pale porcelin envy

eyes of dew drop gray

dream of anything

but life today

She lingers in the back

most hours

clinging to shade

and inconsequential hue

praying to gods

spit, spite, and throttle

forget she exists

as she dreams of anything

but this

Her hair is neat

her glasses new

ish, through which the

world is viewed

in shades of black

purple and blue

her ears are revolving doors

of not good enough

four eyes and hell-bound troll

stupid fucker and

filthy mole who should

NEVER have been born

but

…. there are days

when hands reach out

when voices confront

shove, bite, and anguish

and words of

it will be ok, you are loved

come out to play

be with me and

you ARE beautiful…

when you smile,

whisper on her behalf.

In those moments

she is alive

and reminded

hope exists somedays

though most days

she dreams life is

not today

this is the life of Bea.

this is the life of bea

this is the life of

…..

To my younger self

You are

exactly who you should be

not an ounce grown

in the wrong

direction.

The seed of your

talents

grow beautifuly

unique

not a smidge

out of line or

question.

Your character is

witfully designed

trustfully divine

not a sinuew of

soul is placed

in the trash bin

or going

to hell because

love is not a sin

you’re not ugly

or unlikable

unworthy or

un-anything,

don’t listen to them

their snide remarks

their better than’s

because in the end

you turn out just fine

you

live a life

they said you would

not dare

do

so

when they cast your

lots beneath the stands

while you step up

soloed from the band

when they laugh at

clothes handed down

or the silver shining

in that smile

when they poke

prod and manipulate

throw, hit, and

simply hate

you

don’t you look in the mirror

and do

the same thing

because

You are

exactly who you should be

not an ounce grown

in the

wrong direction.

Silence

Silence is deaf’ning
the space left is awareness
we become human