bullied poem

Allow yourself to cry until you fall asleep, if that’s what it takes to smile the next morning. I’m not saying deny that you aren’t okay. I’m saying acknowledge it so you can move on. I’m saying sometimes the only way to get back up after you’ve fallen is to stay on the ground. To give yourself a moment to regain the air in your lungs.

As above so below

Those who sow reap

And those who reap sow

Those who have suffered

Their wounds will mend

Kindness will reap kindness

Without end

But those who act cruelly shall

Reap cruelty in return

For this is a lesson

That they must learn

With lesson learned

The spell will end

Time will heal and

Love will mend

Those of justice hear my plea

Balance the scales

So, mote it be

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.
But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.
Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.
Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?
Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.
—  Hannah Baker; 13 reasons why.

she has been through hell
the experience hardened her
put an armor around her self
built by sparkling pebbles
and angel tears

gone are the fragile flower
the delicate swan
the soft bit of coal

now she is like a diamond
a flower of stone
nothing can destroy her
never hurt her again

she transformed herself
into a new entity
like something
out of this world

holding her head high
carrying a legacy
on her shoulders

she survived
she never gave up
she has been to hell
and she came back


(Writerscreedchallenge - ‘the diamond flower’)


In third grade, sitting in the back row
I would tie my own hair into knots
Pass it between my teeth until I bled
And then rip it out
At night, I tore out my eyelashes in the dark
Counting hours until morning
I’m not sure how to explain
Those little acts of dismemberment
I don’t know how many cells I have scattered around
A trail of DNA. A proof that I once was there
Even though day after day, I felt myself fading

No one seemed to notice
No one seemed too concerned
I was, after all, a twitchy little kid
And at first, it just looked like a collection of bad habits
Nothing too serious
I bit my nails, chewed on my lips and inner cheeks
Small-scale cannibalism
A faint reflection of what was eating me inside

In a way maybe it made sense
I’ve heard of wolves caught in traps
Devouring their ensnared limbs
In hopes to escape
I was a most stubborn little girl
Left to my own devices, I would have done anything to survive
Starved and despaired enough, maddened with hunger
You resort to monstrosity. You feed on what you can

I’d pick at my skin, pinch and scratch
Mindless but ritualized pain
So oddly comforting, almost hypnotic
A state close to full body numbness
And when they’d hit me, I’d laugh and say it didn’t hurt
But it did. It hurt. Everything hurt
And those hands that would not fight back
I turned against my own being
Pulling it apart. Bit by bit. Dissolving
Had it continued long enough
I might have frayed all the way to nothing

“Okay, tell me about how he told you that your haircut looks horrible and that you only look beautiful with long hair, tell me how he puts his hand down your pants as soon as you both get indoors, tell me how he shunned you when you got your lip pierced, tell me how he told you that you’re eating too much, tell me how he leaves bruises on your thighs, tell me how he ignores your poems that you wrote for him, tell me how he only pays attention to you when you’re undressed, tell me how he calls you fat like it’s your name, tell me how he talks to you about how attractive other girls are, tell me how he won’t give you affection, tell me how he leaves you on read when you tell him that you need him, tell me how he continues to speed right after you told him that that’s why you’re too afraid to go out for drives with him, now look at me in the eyes and try to tell me that that’s love.”

— Cynthia Chapman

I must have been twelve years old the first time I really felt
Brown hair and spots and puppy fat
my first boyfriend phoned me up and told me that
he didn’t want to be with me because I was
and it broke me.
I didn’t eat. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to be anything but
I was twelve when I started destroying myself
just to love myself
I was twelve years old when I first realised I was
and it hasn’t left me.
Facial asymmetry,
dark circles, acne,
fat stomach, fat thighs, fat arms.
Laxatives or two fingers, whatever gets it out,
a habit I still haven’t kicked to this day.
I’m not allowed to know how much I weigh
because it would make me feel
but I still see it in my reflection, anywhere,
I know it’s there.
I hate myself for eating
and I hate myself for breathing
all the time
because I know that my body is all mine
and I should love it
but I can’t
and you can call me beautiful
over and over and over again
but we all know I will not believe you in the end.
—  Ugly - Cydney Olwen

“it is a haunting and I’ll tell you how: 

you stumble into the lockers
and they don’t know why

you cringe away from cruel words
that they can’t hear the bite of 

you shed tears in a bathroom stall
and they don’t recognize the hurt

know this, they are the ghosts.
they are the monsters, 
the horror and the nightmares

and just because they can’t see it
doesn’t make them more

doesn’t mean they can pretend
to be soft in the florescent lights 
that show every hard flaw

you are here. you are the living
and the breathing and I am sorry
there is no salt or sage for this

but ghosts can only travel so far.
I promise, they won’t follow you forever”

- hallway haunts || O.L.