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Riley June Dec 2018
This is for both a bully and friend. They were like a tattoo I never wanted. Ink swirled under my skin screaming at me in victory. I woke up one day discovering this design dwelled in me making itself at home. How did this happen? How come no other kids had ink under their skin? That’s when they became a bully. When I got older the ink got meaner. Everything I did wrong they used against me like an arsenal of regret.  Elementary school became a battlefield and I always wore my armor. Children choose their sides not understanding the consequences each battle held.
Every morning they were there with more loyalty than a service dog. Every mirror was marked by them. Every student knew their name. And every day we would fight. Most days the fights were small and no one but us would get injured but some days there were casualties far greater than expected. This was not just a year or two of them being a bully but almost a decade of them being one. A routine developed where they would show up in the morning remind me they were never leaving and then wait for me after school. If I missed the bus they were sure to be there with me through that but not for support but as an opportunity to berate me.
They had a commitment to me that most marriages would be jealous of. No matter what they stayed by my side. And then I moved away traveling across many states confident I left them behind in the move. When school started I was nervous because I was new, and no one knew me. That lasted all of six seconds before I saw them again in the hallway. How the **** did they manage to cross six state lines to follow me and could I just disappear. The answer was no so we met again but this time it was as if they couldn’t remember me so this time around we were acquaintances.
As an acquaintance they were like a tattoo that you got done when you were sixteen, not quite what you wanted but it was better. This time the ink didn’t scream at me but talked. Their loyalty and commitment were both still their but instead of battles they became friends with others. It was weird seeing what they had become after so many years of torment, but it was nice to finally have some quiet. This didn’t mean I was completely free of all bullies however, I met new ones in high school that were much worse and far more cruel. After one particularly harsh day my once bully now acquaintance came over to help me stand again. I learned to lean on them and began to trust in them a little more after that day.
When high school was coming to close I still refused to consider them a friend never forgetting how much pain they caused me in my youth. And so once more we parted as acquaintances to continue onto the next chapter of our lives. This time around I didn’t cross six state lines but stayed in state. This was when I started college. I was shocked when I found out that they were to be my roommate I mean what are the odds of that? I still felt the ink under my skin swirl in a sort of salute to them. They remembered me this time around, but it wasn’t a bad thing. This time I allowed myself to become friends with them and we grew close. The tattoo was no longer a mistake but a well thought out decision that held meaning and color. They were now a friend that I could trust, and the ink didn’t just talk to me, but it sang. I want you to understand who they are so keep an open mind as I introduce to you……. my moles.
Lilly frost Oct 2017
If only things were as easy as 1,2,3
A,B,C
Like elementary
Arithmetic and spelling
Simple science
Gym was always stunning
Recess was revered
The swings were sacred
Writing on the jungle gym
Laughing
Running off with friends to play
Being enchanted by the smell of coffee and trees
Magic every second you breathe
Simply because you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be
Close your eyes
Now what do you see?
Darkness?
Dots of color?
Phantoms of light?
Remember when you saw dragons
Wizards
Whole worlds enchanting
When you walked people said it seemed like you were dancing
Remember when you were happy?
There was no worry about what to do
What are you going to be?
You had your whole life
Figure out what to do
Well what now?
What's your plan?
Too bad
Too late
It's not elementary
None of your dreams can come true
You're completely *******
Anya Sep 2018
In elementary school
Things were so much simpler
My three titles-
Artist
Reader
Nice
-Basically defined me
In other’s eyes
...
Now,
I am lost
In a sea of people
No clear direction
No clear idea
Of who I am
Where I belong
will I ever?
Oh, Abernathy
How long has it been
Since we left school
And went our separate ways?

Oh, Abernathy
I still think of you
And I wonder how you are
To this day

All the things we used to make
All the rules we tried to break
And they say that kids will still be kids

But, oh, Abernathy
The teachers are doing fine
They were smiling
When I visited them one day

And, oh, Abernathy
I hope you're doing well
Wherever you are
Whatever may come your way

Oh, the memories I hold dear
They have all but disappeared
It's both a blessing and a curse

Oh, Abernathy
My Lawrence, Abernathy
I wonder what you're doing
To this day

There's no need to be upset
Please don't sweat this stuff or fret
I only want to let you know

Abernathy, you're still on my mind
I remember your golden hair and your pearly eyes
Our friendship will never fade away, I swear

Oh, Abernathy
Dear Lawrence, Abernathy
I just pray to God
That you are still okay

Oh, Abernathy
I always think of you
And I wonder how you are
To this day
For my primary school crush, Abbie, at Shepherd's Down School...

Heavily inspired by "Angie" by The Rolling Stones.

Sorry I missed Valentine's Day for this.
Maple Mathers May 2016
Marshall is the Only Thing that Mathers: Lessons of Elementary School

When I was in third grade, I found religion.

Well. Kind of.

My older sis brought a CD home one day - "The Eminem Show" - and explained how cool - how popular, rather - it made her. This was news, as the both of us personified the textbook social pariah - we were weird, or something. And kids made sure we knew it.

"Eminem?" I wondered. "Who names themselves after candy?"

Slim Shady did, apparently. Cannibalism, at its prime.

"Duh, ****** idiot! It's spelled differently!" Scoffed my sister. She loved to remind me who was boss; she had a ball making me feel even smaller than she did (I'd assume). A talent amplified by her superior intellect, which isolates her to this day. Back then she could do as she pleased, and I'd readily adapt. She was many thing, but predominantly, she was there. And I adored her for it.

She told me everyone had or knew this music. This Eminem band.

I listened till I could recite every track, verbatim. Captivated instantly.

The very next day, I came to school, ratty and grimy looking as ever (my mother hadn't taught me any different - for, I suppose, she had looked my way but saw only herself. Thus, I frequented the principal's office those days, teacher sent me from class every morning for disrespecting the environment.

Apparently, looking homeless isn't  acceptable - even if you're 9.

Anyways. At least I got to miss class.

Nobody would play with me those days. I had just one friend for all those years. They'd kick me and spit on me, lock me out in the snow, call me Spider.

Typical grade school semantics.

However, that CD was a game changer, I anticipated. Things were different. I knew about Eminem, and since my sister's peers were obsessed, mine would soon be, too. Thus, they'd finally play with me, wouldn't they?

Those were my expectations.

But. Conclusions drawn by a 9-year-old aren't exactly conclusive, it turns out. I approached a handful of children during recess. And promptly, terrified them.

Estatic, I exclaimed, "I'm going to ****! Who's coming with me?!"

I was beaming. For a couple seconds. And then Everyone ran, screaming and crying, yelling back at me with the appropriate intonations for a sewer rat.

I didn't understand why. Baffled nobody percieved my announcement as hysterical. And brilliant.

Yet, I got what I wanted, I suppose. Invisibility negated by taboos and vulnerability; I, the Satan freak, finally became interesting. Interesting enough to be picked on, and bullied.

It was an upgrade at the time.

Though, I had yet to understand why it'd occurred; the quote was hilarious to me. God meant nothing to me - "insulting" the lord, what did that even mean?

How would I know?

Alone, again, I snuck behind a tree and wrote all the lyrics I could recall - it was all okay, cause soon, I'd be home.

And home meant Eminem. Someone I could count on to be there. No matter what.

Funny how those same kids arrived at high school, and learned what a real bully can do. Bullies who never messed with me once, and never would. It's unwise to provoke a bee, you see - especially the queen of the hive. ;)

And laugh it up, but Shady is forever my religion.
Shady is My Religion.
❤️
Scott Horror Dec 2015
in first grade
i had my first crush
on a boy
who told me
that i was annoying
and to leave him alone

in second grade
i pretended to be a witch
and my friends
cast spells
and rode invisible brooms

in third grade
i lost a spelling bee
because i misspelled
the word cotton

in fourth grade
i started my first diet
because my sister
made fun of my baby fat

in fifth grade
i had to get an appendectomy
and when i came back
people remembered me
only because i was gone

in sixth grade
I started skipping lunch
to go to the library
and sit in the bathroom
and cry
until class started

in seventh grade
i pulled apart a shaving razor
and sliced the inside of my wrist
and hid the small line
with a bracelet
made of denim

in eighth grade
i cut all my hair off
with safety scissors
and i learned
that no one will date me
and that my lips will never be kissed

in the ninth grade
i smoked
and wrote
and stopped talking
because no one wanted
to know that i existed

and i don't
think i will make it
to tenth grade
my school experiences
Sandwiched in blankets.
Snoozing to the morning news.
Run! Another tardy pass.
A daily routine of my grade school days. I loved school, but getting ready for school was not pleasant. Good times.

John Archievald Gotera  © 2015
(This poem will be included in my upcoming collective katauta poetry ebook, Bubble Bay 28, which comes out this spring.)
Luna Casablanca Nov 2015
I never thought I’d find myself running outside on the sidewalk
Bearing to go faster just to be home.
I never felt my heart beat so fast
And tears overpower my beautiful face
As I cried for everything to stop while
Sprinting in school clothes and a backpack.
I never shook so much.

I could not even breathe as I pushed through the isle and jumped off the steps.
I screamed “No!” at the top of my lungs
When all the kids demanded I obey them
Because I was
Different.
I ignored the boy who laughed and asked why I was getting off.
I ran, I panted, and I found my mother in the house
Where I arrived early.
My own stop was two after the one
I ran off the bus.

I told her they wouldn’t let me have the backseat.
They restrained me by holding my arms, pushing my hand off,
And lashing their voices to the point I was shattered.
She reported this to my father.
They said I did the right thing.
Impressed by how I removed but mostly how
I ran.

In my yard I would see birds fly in and out of the trees.
How I wanted to be a Blue Jay and fly to wherever I could go.
I may not be able to fly,
But I could run, and wear the color blue.
I can run away and grow stronger more than any
Micromanaged child who was taught nothing but
Self-absorption.
I could run whenever I was in trouble and
Nobody dared to catch me due to my fiery
Speed.

Today, I write this with an icepack under my left foot.
I’m injured, but will be back to my usual
Routine eventually.
The nasty kids are where it all started.
I told them not to cry to me when they received an
“F” in gym.
If they do, I’ll run away ;).
I remember this story of when I was bullied whenever I am running distance and succeeded like I did getting off the bus where I was bullied everyday, manhandled if I got the backseat, and lashed, yelled, and screamed at. I am a runner now, this is where the past lead me.
Renie Simone May 2015
"If I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I'd change a few things,
and shake up the flow.

I might go to class,
be where I should be,
Say and wear what I wish,
And only be me.

Ignore the ignorant,
hold dearest friends close,
Respect authority,
see where it goes.

Have love and compassion,
a watchful mind,
Keep ears wide open,
and always be kind.

Harbour a strong heart,
let others be shared,
Make sure I remind them,
that I always care(d).

So, if I could go back,
and knew what I know,
I might change a few things,
and see where it goes."
eli Feb 2015
I learned my place quickly. See,
among the kids on the playground, I
was never fast. I was a joke among tag-players;
it is no exaggeration that I never tagged anyone.

But tag-you’re-it was the least of my worries.

I learned my place quickly, chased down
daily by a pack of boys from my class. To this day,
I couldn’t tell anyone what started it. I kept to myself:
They were wolves, and I was the rabbit they were hunting.
Run aground, pebbles kicked in my face; it was
just like the bullies in the cartoons—
But when it’s one little girl against six boys, I couldn’t find
the humour in it:
Cartoons like that didn’t make me laugh anymore.

I learned my place quickly. “Boys will be boys,”
Was the response from teachers when I came back inside:
crying, covered in dirt, shaking the pebbles out of my shirt.
“It just means they like you.” Yet I couldn’t grasp how
pushing me to the ground, kicking dirt and rocks into my face
equated to affection. If that was how boys acted then I
would rather die than have a boyfriend.

Their antics were validated on principle that they were boys,
and so their dominance in society was assured from day one.
The rest of us, the prey, had to deal with it; I would be sent to
The principal for this principle because I became desperate
and would hide in the woods just to get away.
I was reprimanded and shamed, while the boys got
a gentle slap on the wrist,
and a reminder:
“Play nice.”

I learned my place quickly.
another poetry class assignment, this time we had to write a poem about childhood.
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