How do you decide if I am different?
How do you decide what I am called?
Loser, four-eyes, fatty, freak
All these names used at your discretion, not mine.
These words come to dine on my courage
They leave me broken inside.
But you can't see how I feel
So your darts continue to fly.
We have no protection against you
The adults are no help at all
They say
"Don't react.
Ignore them.
They'll stop"
But they don't.
Or maybe they will.
Be it a month, a decade, a year
Maybe they'll stop.
But what then?
What do you do with all the sorrys?
Can they make the heartbreak go away?
Do they make a boat,
to sail you over a river of tears that still flows?
Do they make a key,
to unlock a chest of silent pain?
Or perhaps the sorrys are a vacuum,
here to suck up the hurt.
But no matter how hard they try,
they will never get all the dirt.