Arrows

Predators around on the prowl trying to find easy prey. Their bow is cocked and ready and they let the arrow fly. You die just a little for you watched with shame as they hit their target. You go home somber and downtrodden from shame and self-hate. In the night you dream of having an armor that could protect you from future arrows. In the morning you rose to find a sunny sky and you feel lighter on your feet. Sitting in class waiting to start your day, when you hear the obnoxious noises of teenagers. They come locked and loaded with a bag full of blows. They tap you on the shoulder and you turn  just slightly then think better of it and turn away. Don't say a word those arrows can do physical damage but if you polish you armor everyday there will be nothing they can say to bring you down.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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