"What happened to the bully,
to turn him that way?
What is he repressing inside,
ignoring,
blaming himself for,
and taking it out on others?
Whats going on inside that head of his?
Did something happen as a child?
Is something going on now?"

These are the things I think,
when they push me down the stairs,
into the lockers,
or trip me in the halls.
I'm selflessly thinking about them,
while they're torturing  me.

Why are they calling me ****?
Are they secretly gay themselves,
and too ashamed to come out,
and they're jealous of my bravery,
to walk down the hall hand in hand,
with the girl I love?
Is that whats going on?

Because not all that long ago,
I was in their shoes.
I was poking fun at the girl who didn't quite fit in,
or the boy with the fabulous hair.
I wanted so badly to just be myself,
and then hated myself because I couldn't,
and then in turn,
I hated them.

So when the bullies do these things,
I dont judge,
or hate them for it,
or seek justice,
or revenge for their actions.
I just feel bad for them,
because they're the person now,
who I used to be a few years ago.

My friends,
they dont understand why.
Why I do just go tell the teacher of whats going on,
or tell my parents.
I dont want to do that.
It would only cause more repression,
and more problems.

Instead,
after they knock me down,
I brush it off,
and reach out a hand,
as a friend,
not a foe.
I'm there for them,
no matter how much they resist.
I tolerate it,
because I understand.