He
(the fool
amongst us)
with pathetic
smile and pleading eyes
ducks low and cries as first
punch is thrown and we three, we
mighty three adrenalin rushed
lace in with fist that follows fist.
And
how proud we are and whoop with glee as blood
splatters from his battered nose.
We untie him
then and watch him slink from chair to ground
and leave him there as we now ten
feet tall give high fives and
leap
into the air. The truth is
I don’t care for this
and a troubled
mind troubles
restless
sleep
and
thus I
weep for him
and weep for me.
Truth is it is a
survival thing –bully
or be bullied The me, the
coward (in) me longs to belong
so I sell my soul for welcome peace.
And my excuse my paltry excuse tis
mother’s words: Tis far better to
give than
to receive. So I give my soul to
he that would bully me, give fists
and feet the all of me.
Yet I know, deep down
I know that I
the bully is
bullied
too.
Anna :o]
Susan at Poets United has us writing of bullying and Victoria
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Author: Andrew Mason (London , UK
