Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.
As I gaze through space, through my watery eyes I wonder what has become. I see the stars formed by the light through the water curtain in front of me. I smile for I know all is well. The lie I tell myself that all is well, knowing very well that I’m standing on broken glasses. My inner self has been shattered; it’s been bruised beyond repair, but I keep telling myself that all is well. I’m hopeful that one day I shall find a bandage that will sooth my pain. I’m hopeful that one day a hand shall come and wipe my tears away. One day, only one day this might happen.
I grew up knowing that sticks and stones are to hurt me, break me but those scars can be healed.
We tend to forget the power of the tongue, that life and death lies on it. We forget the sharp utterance which penetrates deeper through the physical body. It creates scars that cannot be seen, but felt. It creates scars that manifests and matures in time. It creates cancerous scars. Scars that are not easily mended, but torment a person throughout their lifetime.
Drip, drip: hear the sound of my tears as they hit the ground. Hear the sound of my voice as I scream.
My screams are not heard for my voice has been silenced. My scars are not known for I have managed to hide them. I sit in isolation for I’m scared I might taint others with my filth. I sit in isolation for I’m scared to open up. I sit alone hopeful that no one will ever find out about my wound, but the burning ache inside wants to escape. I sit alone and say all is well for I hope that this scar shall be healed. I sit alone as a cry for help, that one day someone might see them without me speaking.
I sit in a pool of blood for I’ve been bleeding for many years. I walk on broken glasses for I have gotten used to it. I lie in a bed of sharp nails, as I busk in heat of my fury.
Sticks and stones may break my bone but words kill the character.
You are STUPID. You are FAT. You are LAZY. You’re WHITE. You’re BLACK. You’re ANNOYING. You’re an ORPHAN. You are a BURDEN. You were a MISTAKE. No one wants you. You are a JUNKIE. You’re a JAILBIRD.
Words become reality and end up being part of the person. When negative words are a consistency they build fury, they damage ones character. Anger manifests and tomorrow these scars are hard to heal. Negativity builds more broken individuals in society; people who have grown up believing in all that has been said to them. They grow up knowing that person and end up owning that character for those were the words which were fed to them. They grow up broken, and this seems all normal to them, for all is well, and they were taught that is how it is. Words are a dangerous weapon, for they go through generations, that language is taught to the new generation, the future. It becomes a norm and part of society.
Sticks and stones may break my bones and yes indeed; words stick for years.
Hear my voice, for these are the tears of a broken child.