I used to have this manager back when I was a bartender,
One night
She told me:
"I don't know what it is,
But something about you reminds me of my ex-fiance"
She kind of looked off,
A twinkle moistened her eye,
And wrinkles hoisted either side
Of her lips.
And she said: "He's such a punk"
Wow.
"Freak you too", I thought.
I blew it off.
I acted as if it had never happened.
But I added those words to the collection of:
"You always", "You never", Why can't you", "I wish you", "You used to","I told you","Try harder", "How could you's",
That I always stow
Below deck,
Hidden away
Like Hannibal Lecter's prey
Hidden with the collection of words
That hammer nails through wooden skin,
That built a coffin within
My gut
A coffin only I could see,
Only I knew existed
It was a coffin encasing a collection
Of words,
That hurt.
That sting.
And when there's no outlet,
Those words fester,
Forming fear,
Foaming up like crashing waves,
Creating an ocean of excuses,
To lash out.
Words,
Are weapons of personal destruction,
We know this as a human race,
We're taught as children
That sticks and stones break bones
But the hard truth is
That a crooked comment
Can rip guts from stomachs,
Smash esteem
Like ants under a five-year-old's sneaker,
And callousness
Wouldn't form as easy as one may think.
Years ago I had a gym teacher who scared everyone.
I his in back corners near rubber tumbling mats
To ward off lightening bolt remarks.
One day he said,
The one who always messed up the grading curve-
One day he said to that girl:
"If only you had as much drive in the gym as you do in math,
I bet you could go far"
That smart girl said nothing.
She just added those words to her own coffin inside.
But her coffin was not thick oak like mine,
It wasn't designed
To hold the hurt
Or channel it anywhere
Like into a poem.
Today
That smart girl sits behind cold iron bars.
Those words piled up for years
Until she could no longer cherish herself,
Until her confidence was a cesspool,
Drowning aspirations in anguish.
And so one day when that boyfriend,
The one who ran around behind her back,
Lashed out,
She lashed back.
Her outlet
Was 9 millimeters,
She sunk the swollen words
Of all her verbal beaters
In the form of a bullet
In that cheater's
Head.
Words,
Are weapons of personal destruction,
We know this as a human race,
We're taught as children
That sticks and stones break bones
But the hard truth is
That a crooked comment
Can rip guts from stomachs,
Smash esteem
Like ants under a five-year-old's sneaker,
And callouses don't form as easy as one may think.
I'm not saying everyone is made of glass,
But not everyone's a soldier either,
So think about what to say before you say it,
Because a bully doesn't always hide in the shell of the biggest kid on the playground.
