The Bullied
I am the bullied man, and I am proud.
I am the bullied man, and I am so alone
It is a contradiction—in me;
In my heart it is a dichotomy.
If I was strong they would not have gotten to me.
Without strength, with darkness in my soul,
They came for me. They are cowards.
I had been friendly to them all.
Why didn't they come for the others who were stronger?
Why me? I could not believe that it was happening to me.
Because of them, because of their indifference or hatefulness,
I became small and weak and dark inside,
And my mind became as hollow as a drum. The words beat at my ears like humming bees,
Buzzing about my head like angry hornets: “Loser! Loser! Loser!”
Their hatred went into me like rain through dry ground;
It washed over me like waves against the shoreline;
My insides shriveled up like celery left in water—dry;
Then withered and sodden; then dead; then rotten. I am the bullied man, and I am proud.
I am the bullied man, yes, I know that they will win…
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