The scars on my soul will last forever.
You thought that my life was a joke.
You caused me pain from the very second we had met.
You shattered anything I ever had;
Even the smallest bit of self-confidence I had
was taken away by your greed.
everyday when you spat those hateful words,
I seemed to brush them off as if they were nothing.
They went down to the very depths of my soul,
pricking and stabbing to the core of my being.
You took away everything I had.
But not even that was enough.
Past the constant jokes and names,
you felt I should suffer more.
You punched me.
Prodding and taking away any dignity
I might have had anytime before that.
And even when I remained silent and emotionless,
all I wanted to do was scream and cry.
And so I did.
Every single night.
After my parents went to bed.
Sobbing into my pillow,
trying not to disturb them so they’d leave me alone.
Not that you’d know that.
Not that you’d care.
You’d probably be proud of this achievement of yours;
hang the memory up in the hall of fame in that small mind of yours.
And it’s not like I could tell anyone.
I was too scared.
They’d end up making it worse for me.
Everyone was on your side, anyway.
It was your territory.
Surrounded by your friends.
Against me and a few poems and drawings
I had done to vent.
To convince myself I could stand it.
But I couldn’t.
I never could.
I never had the slightest chance of doing so.
And when I snapped,
almost stabbing you in the neck
with whatever I had in hand at the time,
they blamed me.
They all sided with you.
And I had enough.
I started contemplating whether I should live or not.
Stop everything myself,
or continue the torment for just less than a year.
I wanted to do it so, so badly.
But everytime I got in the right mind to,
I became afraid.
Afraid of letting you win.
Afraid of giving up
when there was so little time left in my own hell
compared to how much I had dealt with it.
So I stayed.
Without harming myself,
much less someone else, thank God.
I knew I could make it through half another year.
I just had to.
I’d done it for the past five and a half years,
and I could deal with it now.
After that half-a-year was over,
I was finally free.
I transferred to a new school.
Made actual friends for practically the first time in my life.
I learned how to genuinely smile again
even after six years of only managing a frown,
a straight face,
and a conterfeit grin.
I learned a little about actually talking to people,
since you and everyone else never let me usher a word.
But even still,
I can’t open up to much.
I can’t reveal every single detail
to the people I call friends
out of utter fear that you had caused.
I couldn’t bring myself to even wear clothes
that didn’t cover up every detail of my design
out of fear that if I did,
their words would become the same as yours.
I knew they would never do such a thing,
but I still couldn’t even do that.
And after the first semester,
my friend told me something.
You were tranferring to my school.
I locked myself in the bathroom and cried.
And when the day came that you were finally at my school,
the only relief I had
was knowing I didn’t have any classes with you.
But everytime we passed in the hallway,
you always shoved me,
mumbling profane words so quietly that only I could hear.
And the last time I saw you
before your mother decided to send you to boarding school,
you punched me and called me a words I dare not repeat.
You never once said sorry.
I know that asking for an apoplogy would’ve been asking to much from you,
but it still left another scar
on this thing I barely have left called a soul.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much to know how much pain you have caused me,
and to never truthfully say sorry.
And, you know what?
I’d like to thank you for shaping me
into a hollow, quiet, insecure person
who will never in a million years believe in true perfection
while looking at themself.
And I thank you for making me strong enough
to realize how much I can get through
without having to count on a single person other than myself.
And take every single blow taken towards me,
whether it was reasoned or not.
And even though,
it still hurts,
my scarred soul will forever stand tall
because of you and your malicious ways.
So thank you.
So, so much.
~Thank You for the Scars, by Brianna Shireman
“This is basically the story I’ve been hiding for all of my life. I know there are so many people out there who have had bullying go farther past mine and compared to them, I’m a small nothing. But. I just want to let people know that your lives can get better after being bullied. Sure, you may never be able to trust or open up as well as you could’ve, but don’t try blaming it on yourself. I know that it’s difficult and you may want to give up hope, but don’t. I promise that one day, you canbe able to find people who will honestly care and love you.. even when you thought there would be no one. And even though your past might come back to haunt you.. or if things start to get bad again, just don’t give up hope. Because then they will win. Stop the Bullying. Stop the Hatred. That’s my only true message here. And I hope that somehow, I might’ve managed to connect with someone else who could possibly be in my shoes.”