what’s that saying about sticks
and stones
can break our bones
yet words can never hurt us?
As if abusive parents
with words like knives and
school kids’ insults that dug
into our minds
can ever hurt less than broken bones
As if our emotions can be
suppressed down to a tiny ball
and never burst free
of it’s confined imprisonment
Like a headache could be more painful
than the words we were called  
and the whirl of echoed names
ringing through our ears
reverberating through our heads
and through our entire being
Nights filled with cries for help
and days daydreamed until the ending bell
of a world brimming with innocence and hope
Evenings of desperate actions
and dreams of death and white, white spaces
eternal and empty,
horrific and terrible
So don’t tell me that sticks and stones
could ever hurt more
than the words we were called
and the names we got pegged with
like a paper on a bulletin board
displayed for everyone to see
visible
and alone.