They said Keith couldn't *** without a finger up his ***,
they said Ruth was a **** for not sleeping with her man.
They said George was a woman because he couldn't grow a beard,
they said Molly was autistic, because she was a little bit weird.
They said Mr. Winchester was a ******* because he wore an overcoat,
they said Ms. Wheeler as a witch, and once sacrificed a goat.
They said Mr. Winter was so fat, he was more or less bulletproof,
they said Ms. Walker was not attractive, but if it came to it:
she'd have to do.
They said Lucinda was thin because she chose not to eat,
sitting by the bathroom doors in the lunchtime canteen.
They said Leonard was a ****** with his long, blonde hair,
they said Luke was a downy because of his vacant stare.
They said Mr. Fresco was a drinker who beat his wife at home,
they said Ms. Finkel was a *******, seen standing out in the cold.
They said an awful lot of things that decayed away over time,
but it takes a strength to train the mind
to not trod the tracks of a lifetime past,
to keep yourself to who you are,
not those ancient words,
nor those faded scars.
This is a poem written mainly around the sort of experiences I had during high school - all those tall tales that permeate... I'm sure there are certain people we all remember from school more for a rumour that was cast about them, than anything about them as a person. The trouble is, words said, even decades ago, can still wound if allowed to, or if they were particularly traumatic.
p.s. I use words in this piece that I would obviously not use in day-to-day conversation. Context, art, and all that - in case anyone gets (or wants to feel) offended.
