Poetry

sticks and stones

Sticks and stones may break my bones,

but words shatter my heart.

Your jabs and pokes may just be jokes,

but you've hit upon my bruises.

You say, "give it a rest, it's just a jest,"

but you don't know how deep you've cut.

Your words are butterknives, you say, the cuts won't stay

and yet the pain lingers on.

I show you my scars, the marks on my heart

and you turn around and hit them harder.

Yes, sticks and stones may break my bones,

but shattered hearts may never heal.

 Okay so this one's kinda dark but it was really, really cathartic to write this. My family likes to joke about how I'm spoiled or how I can't do shit for myself because they do everything for me. It's true, but that doesn't make it hurt less. I'm always worried that I act like a rich kid, that people think I'm stuck-up because my parents are well-off. Especially since I go to public school. I don't want to seem spoiled or entitled. That's one of my biggest fears, and my parents know that, so it hurts, badly, when they joke about how I'm spoiled.

Bonus note: I wrote this poem in my head at ten o'clock at night when I was trying to sleep and I had this urge to climb out of my bed and write it down so that I didn't forget it.