When I was a kid I used to thinks 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 favorite , she let me keep doing it
Not really a big deal
One day, before I realised fat kids are not designed to climb trees, I fell out a tree and bruised the right side of my body . I didn't want to tell my grandma about o because I was scared I'd get in trouble for playing somewhere I shouldn't have been.
A few days later, the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal office, from there I was sent to a smaller room with a really nice lad how asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home . I saw no reason to lie . As fake as I was concerned, life was pretty good, I told her " when I'm sad my grandma gives me karate chops ", this led to a full scale investigation,and I was removed from the house for there days until they finally asked me how I got bruised, news of the silly little story quickly spread through the school and I got my first nickname
Pork chop
To this day I hate pork chops
Im not the one kid that grew up this way , surrounded by people who , used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones may break my bones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got Called them all
So we grew up thinking that no one will ever fall in love with us
To make us fell like the sun was something that they mad for us in there tool shed
