He looks down at his bruises,
The bullies they do this.

She looks down at her scars,
The bullying went way to far.

He smiles,
But the bullying has broken his heart.

The bruises, scars, and broken hearts,
Show nothing in comparison,
To the mental scars.

Why can't they like me,
Why do they hurt me.

These questions come to them,
Daily.

Have you heard these wretched names?
Ugly
Fake
Or even,
Clinically Insane

Have you ever stopped to think,
The pain has made them this way?

No they are not,
Ugly .

No they are not,
Fake .

Never have they been,
Clinically Insane .

But this pain,
Is more potent ,
Then red wine,
On white sheets.

Causing them not to,
Laugh,
Smile,
Or wish to breath.

Bullying,
Don't you see what you have done?

This pain,
Cannot be undone.

I don't mind when it strikes and it hurts
Eighty miles per hour
It won't ache it won't irk

Discover when you've been lied to
And the ones with blood on their hands
Just wipe it on your face and kiss your cheek

I don't mind when it wounds and it shoots
The alcohol tastes so sour
Though it claws at the memory from its roots

And the times spent in your room
Dissolve with the tears from the fumes

Sons of bedeviled thorns and pistols
They take you in
And they swallow you whole
They take a shot
At your chest, at your brain
They take a shot
And they can't really explain

Hotels filled with lonely corpses
A beautiful face seems the only source
That might get you out of your mind
When you are sick and you are lying

Discover that the ones with blood on their hands
Are the only ones who take a stand
With their sins and knives behind their backs
And a smile, and a laugh,
You have to know where you're at

You spell an apology letter by letter
Yet the sky would know better
Than to clear up on a day like today
When it can strike your soul
So fragile and so frail
And your hands
So skinny and so pale
And your smell
So old and so stale
And your heart
I can almost hear it fail

There's no light at the end of that tunnel
There's no mercy for merciless gunner
Maybe next time they'll think ahead
Before their words shoot you dead

But right now I don't mind
If it stabs from behind
Eighty miles per hour
And I still can't race past my mind

And right now don't you mind
Of your hit and run
Are you blind
To the damage done
I hope the sound of the drums
Drowns your cries
Where my soul once lied.
                                             *p.t.

Sometimes when I write,
I look for poetic symbolism around me,
It can be hard to find,
So sometimes I make up a story,
Full of metaphors and colour,
But it doesn't seem real,
So sometimes I write about the real things,
That make me angry,
Or upset,
But I just find it depressing,
So in the end I try to open up my heart,
Just a little bit further each day,
And let the words flow like blood,
Organic, free and unprocessed,
Once it starts it's impossible to stop,
I just write and write and write.

Those are my best poems,
But they are the hardest to share.