Sticks and Stones

Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
A phrase my mother had me repeat every night before I went to bed.
The warm embrace of sleep, tucking me away from the nightmare.
For awake was when I suffered.
I was taught growing up that girls are bullied, but boys are tough.
That men settle their differences with fists, not words.

I was teased and harassed because I was weak.
I was bombarded by hateful words daily.
And my bones held the physical attacks at bay.
But the mental plots seeped through my armor.
Boys do get bullied with more than fists.
Words wreck havoc on our mental states.

I screamed for the embrace of peace.
But instead I got the vice of war.
I pleaded for an exit.
Door after door slammed in my face.
Denying me any form of release.

I could no longer see friend from foe.
My feet jumped at every breath.
Terror resounded through my body with every stare.
The dark being known as suicide approached me.
Motioning  seductively my direction
Whispering how it would all be over soon.

They say that time heals all wounds
Suicide turns to depression
Just as paranoia transforms into cynicism.
Physically I was healthy as could be
But mental poison stewed just below the surface.
A shroud of black mist distorted my vision.
And the way forward was gone.

I was trapped in a perpetual fetal position.
Peace was not to be found anywhere.
Especially within the recesses of my mind.
My family thought I was a danger to myself.
And my friends, to everyone else.
And suicide waved at me like an old lover.

At long last I threw myself a rope.
I ran, as far from everything as I could.
Following in the footsteps of so many before me
I waved the white flag.
And ordered a full retreat.

I find myself in a new world.
Filled with far more light.
And although doom lurks behind me
Hope swells before me.

Who I was before, is gone.
His bones finally gave out.
But the new me has a different belief system.
Sticks and stones are mildly annoying, but words are a deadly poison.