To this day

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When I was a kid

I used to think that pork chops and karate chops

were the same thing

I thought they were both pork chops

and because my grandmother thought it was cute

and because they were my favourite

she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day

before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees

I fell out of a tree

and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it

because I was afraid I’d get in trouble

for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise

and I got sent to the principal’s office

from there I was sent to another small room

with a really nice lady

who asked me all kinds of questions

about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie

as far as I was concerned

life was pretty good

I told her “whenever I’m sad

my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation

and I was removed from the house for three days

until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school

and I earned my first nickname

pork chop

to this day

I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid

who grew up this way

surrounded by people who used to say

that rhyme about sticks and stones

as if broken bones

hurt more than the names we got called

and we got called them all

so we grew up believing no one

would ever fall in love with us

that we’d be lonely forever

that we’d never meet someone

to make us feel like the sun

was something they built for us

in their tool shed

so broken heart strings bled the blues

as we tried to empty ourselves

so we would feel nothing

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