Story of a Victim: A Message of Warning
I walk, head down, but can still feel them stare.
They laugh and they point,
Whisper, not at all softly,
Anything to make sure that I know that they're there.
It's not like they're trying to hide:
They're searching,
And seeking,
Set to destroy me inside.
Their hate made to drown, like a never-ending tide.
I always hear the words as they're spoken,
Full of bite,
So accusing,
End up leaving me broken.
The things that I hear are insults so petty:
"That annoying, fat b****"
"Who does she think she is?"
"Stupid Freshie"
Really, by now, it shouldn't affect me.
"Ignore it," Others always say
"In one ear,
"Then out the other."
Do they really think I can just push it away?
Still, I try to ignore the words.
But they wrap 'round my head,
Fill my thoughts with doubt,
Nestling in deep like sharp, pointy spurs.
I call out for help, but it seems I'm not heard.
Soon enough I'm believing the words that are said.
That I'm ugly,
Hated, and useless,
Been in every guy's bed.
Even out of school, in my room, it's the same.
They attack me through text,
Both by phone and the web.
And all this time I'm wondering, don't they feel any shame?
And then also, why am I the victim in this awful game?
Sometimes I just want to fall to my knees,
Let the tears fall,
Shout up into the sky,
"Is there no help for a victim of bullies?"
It's like I'm on a ladder, with no next rung to seize.
Right now I'm thinking I can't take much more.
I'll climb up onto a chair,
Have a rope 'round my neck.
My eyes, red from crying, will be bloodshot and sore.
The suicide note will be taped to my door.
PLEASE NOTE:
This is a kind of tribute to bullycide victims. I was moved by a video I saw during a presentation about bullying at my school, and this poem is the result of that. The topics discussed have no direct resemblance to my own life, even though the poem is written in a first person point of view.