When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops & karate chops were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops & because my grandmother thought it was cute & because they were my favorite, she let me keep doing it
Not really a big deal
One day, before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree & bruised the right side of my body
I didn't want to tell my grandmother about it because I was afraid I'd get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn't have been
A few days later, the gym teacher noticed the bruise & I got sent to the principals office From there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home
I saw no reason to lie As far as I was concerned, life was pretty good I told her, "Whenever I'm sad, my grandmother gives me karate chops!"
This led to a full scale investigation & I was removed from the house for three days until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruise
News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school & I earned my first nickname
Pork Chop
To this day I hate pork chops
I'm not the only kid who grew up this way Surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks & stones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called & we got called them all So we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us That we'd be lonely forever That we'd never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed so broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone That an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away That there's no way for it to metastasize
It does
She was eight years old our first day of grade three when she got called ugly We both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop getting bombarded by spit ***** but the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day We used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse Outside we'd have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there In grade five, they taped a sign to her desk that read Beware Of Dog
To this day, despite a loving husband, she doesn't think she's beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn't quite get the job done & they'll never understand that she's raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom because they see her heart before they see her skin because she's only ever always been amazing
He was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree Adopted Not because his parents opted for a different destiny He was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone & two parts tragedy Started therapy in 8th grade Had a personality made up of tests & pills. Lived like the uphills were moutains & the downhills were cliffs Four fifths suicidal A tidal wave of anti depressants & an adolescence of being called Popper One part because of the pills, ninety nine parts because of the cruelty He tried to **** himself in grade ten when a kid who could still go home to mom & dad had the audacity to tell him "Get over it," as if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents fround in a first aid kit
To this day he is a stick of TNT lit from both ends Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it's about to fall & despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration, he remains a conversation piece between people who can't understand Sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction & more to do with sanity
We weren't the only kids who grew up this way
To this day kids are still being called names The classics were hey stupid hey spaz Seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year & if a kid breaks in a school & no one around chooses to hear, do they make a sound? Are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? Every school was a big top circus tent & the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers from clowns to carnies All of these were miles ahead of who we were We were freaks Lobster claw boys & bearded ladies Oddities juggling depression & loneliness playing solitaire, spin the bottle trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves & heal But at night while the others slept we kept walking the tightrope It was practice & yes some of us fell
But I want to tell them that all of this **** is just debris leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be & if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror look a little closer stare a little longer because there's something inside you that made you keep trying Despite everyone who told you to quit you built a cast around your broken heart & signed it yourself You signed it, "They were wrong!" because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a clique Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything Maybe you used to bring bruises & broken teeth to show & tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it You have to believe that they were wrong
They have to be wrong
Why else would we still be here? We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them We stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called We are not abandoned cars stalled out & sitting empty on a highway & if in some way we are don't worry We only got out to walk & get gas We are graduating members from the class of we made it Not the faded echoes of voices crying out Names will never hurt me
Of course they did
But our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain & more to do with *beauty
To This Day , I continue reading this poem to myself every time I feel used or unworthy.