I was raised on ridicule
Scorn and blaming.
Belittling laughter
Jokes and shaming.
Though nobody who knew
Seems to doubt it
They sure as hell wish I
Would shut up about it.
That’s just the way it is today.
Abused children, it seems
Upset people; therefore they
Are best not heard, just seen.
Four Eyes, Toothpick and Brat
These are a few of the names.
You might as well call them freaks
And creeps. It amounts to the same.
Screwup, ******, fumblefingers,
Bones, Spazz and Stumblebum.
Pantywaist, wussy, ditz and then
Plenty more where those came from.
From birth to death it seems
Sometimes, throughout all of life
Some people just don’t care
That scorn can cut like a knife.
It makes people question
Every move they might make
When somebody keeps on
Calling them things like flake.
The condemnation and rebuke
Aren’t covered up by the laughter.
People should question deeply
The effect they think they are after.
So cut the kids a break
It won’t turn out wrong
And the ridicule of a child
Can last their whole life long.
