• Thought #1
    Insults
    “Fat pig!”
    I felt sadness burning my throat;
    I knew I was going to
    cry.
    The tears
    Running down
    All the way
    To my chin,
    As if they were running a marathon
    And the finish line was the bottom of my face.
    “Are you okay?” The whole gang crowded me like pigs running
    for the first taste of
    the slop.
    “Yes.”
    It was a lie.
    The kind of lie a child tells to their mom,
    for example,
    “I cleaned my room!”
    But the truth is,
    They actually stuffed
    It
    All
    Under
    Their
    Bed.

    “Buffalo!”
    I felt worse.
    Another insult
    From
    Them.
    Those boys,
    The mean ones.
    I wasn’t at all fat,
    Nor chubby.
    It was just that,
    I guess,
    I guess,
    I guess they are just,
    Not mature.
    No,
    They weren’t.
    They just didn’t know how to be nice.
    At all.
    I was a target,
    They got a bull’s eye,
    Every time.

    Sensitivity,
    The weakness.
    The worst kind.
    I’d rather be superman,
    With a weakness of Kryptonite.
    It would be easier,
    Than to be sensitive.
    Well,
    The truth is,
    I don’t cry when I get hurt,
    But when my heart overflows with sorrow,
    It explodes,
    And then,
    I start,
    To cry.

    My friends care about me,
    They treat me
    So
    Special,
    They say I’m always so positive,
    And that attracts everyone.
    There is one friend that knows when I’m down,
    When my smile is upside-down,
    “The way it should never be.”
    My mom says.

    I have a friend,
    She writes these scintillating notes to me,
    Maybe during class,
    But I don’t care,
    They make me smile,
    And forget all the insults,
    From those stupid boys.




    My Friend
    She never cries.
    Not when she’s physically hurt.
    Only when her heart is.
    Her heart.
    As big as a balloon.
    Open to us.
    The best.
    “I’m not.”
    She is my friend.