Blogging, Bullying, Poetry, Youth

Battered Children

He woke up in the morning.

Not knowing what to do.

Everything is boring,

& painful at times too.


He’s staring at the ceiling

With these thoughts in his head

“How come that I’m still breathing?

I wish that I was dead!”


‘Cause his life is full of shit.

As shitty as can be.

It’s like he’s in a pit

That’s full of grief & agony.


He sat up on his bed,

With his hands over his head.

He’s staring blankly on the floor.

There’s an aching in his core.


While eating at the table,

His appetite is feeble.

The coffee on his side,

Has gone cold over time.


He seems passive & catatonic.

Like he’s hiding something toxic.

Does he feel vulnerable with no armor?

Is that the reason why he’s silent in a corner?


He puts on his school bag.

Then he picks up his name tag.

He had a raise in allowance from his daddy,

But there’s no hint of him being happy.


He then arrives at school,

Where everyone calls him a fool.

Where children call him a fag,

Just because of his bright-colored bag.


Don’t they know they’re just poor?

They can’t even fix their battered door.

He simply inherited that bag

From his sister who died while working in Iraq.


At lunch time he gets mugged.

Kids stealing his food & money.

He also gets a beating when being robbed.

An experience of pain & misery.


He gets teased & called names.

It’s like their playing games.

But to him it is different,

It makes him feel insignificant.


Ugly & retarded, those are just few.

Dumb & stupid, none of them are new.

He has heard it all,

From summer to fall.


And with that, his pain grows.

And along that, his rage flows.

From his heart to his veins

Corrupting his soul like demented stains.


His experience will deform his being.

Changing him into something that is terrifying.

‘Cause if the deeds are monstrous,

It will create a monster.


Unless someone intervenes

& fix his broken seams.

Then he may be saved,

From a dark path which is unconsciously paved.


‘Cause a school should be a learning ground.

& knowledge should be its crown.

Not a place of ridicule.

Not a living hell which is ruthless & cruel.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s