Therapy Bits

I had a really hard time in school. I was bullied, and it was hell every day. I hated it.

I wrote this poem about my time in secondary school, and what I went through.

In the buzzing hallways,

where laughter dances like sunlight,

I walk, a ghost in my own skin,

fading into the backdrop of bright backpacks,

and chatter that feels like daggers.

The walls echo with whispered jibes,

each syllable a pebble thrown,

the sting of their voices, sharp and clear,

as if the world were a stage,

and I—an unwilling performer,

clutching my heart like a fragile token.

Their eyes are hungry predators,

circling, searching for weakness

in the fabric of my being—

they unravel the threads of confidence,

strand by strand,

until I am left, a tapestry unmade.

At lunch, I find solitude in corners,

the weight of silence heavier than stone,

my food untouched,

as laughter rings out,

a melody I am not a part of,

not a note, not a sound.

But inside my chest,

a quiet rebellion stirs,

a flicker of strength, a spark,

as I learn that love can bloom

even in the harshest terrains,

that there are voices that rise,

voices that echo in harmony,

over the din of cruelty.

I gather words like seeds,

plant them in the soil of my dreams,

let them grow into a garden

that blooms fiercely,

coloring the shadows in light.

For every bruise, I will tell my story,

for every tear, a testament to resilience,

and in the mirror, I will paint my face,

not with fear,

but with the colors of hope,

brighter than any insult,

louder than any jeer.

And one day,

I will walk those hallways unbowed,

a warrior in disguise,

holding the truth like a shield,

ready to stand not just for myself,

but for every tender heart

finding its way through

the tangled forest of adolescence.

https://lindaghill.com/2024/08/30/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-aug-31-2024/