To This Day ~ Philanthropy (Slam

To This Day ~ Philanthropy (Slam Poem)

I'm not the only one

Who grew up this way.

Surrounded by people,

That always say that rhyme 

About sticks and stones.

As if broken bones are more painful

Then the names we've been called.

And we've been called them all.

To this day,

People are still being harrassed by lions.

They've made us believe,

That we're going to grow up.

All alone.

They've made us believe,

That we'll never find that special someone

That makes the sun

Shine brighter.

Instead, we've been torn

Into a million pieces.

Climbed up a cliff of anxiety

Ans jumped off into a wave of deppression.

Only to come home to parents

Telling you to get over it.

Don't tell me that hurts

Less than broken bones.

It was Year 4. We were 10.

She was new to the school

And I'd never actually talked to her

Until people started calling her ugly.

From there, we were pushed to

The back of the classroom

To avoid being ambushed by spitballs.

Together we'd hae recess and lunch indoors

Because oustide was worse

Outside was a battleround

It was a jungle.

Outdoors we were cheetahs

Sprinting to catch prey.

Only in this case,

We were the prey.

And we had learned to stand still

As if we were statues giving no hints

That we were there at all.

To this day,

Despite a loving family

She believs that she isn't beautiful.

Just because of some shallow bullies

Who pestered her about being dyslexic,

And for having a birthmark

Which covered half of her neck

And parts of her face.

Kids use to say she looked like

Someone had tried rubbing out a wrong answer,

And couldn't get the job quite done.

They don't even realise that beauty,

Comes in different shapes and sizes.

they'll never realise that

She's now raising a family,

Whose kids definition of beauty

Begins with the word "mum"

Because they see the inner beauty,

And know that she's only ever been beautiful.

He, was different.

From all of the others.

You'd think boys would be all rough and tough.

Especially with all of the sports that they play.

He couldn't pass a football

Or kick a soccer ball.

But what he could do.

If someone said leap

He'd say "how high?"

And if someone asked him to turn.

He'd say "how fast?"

Because he was a dedicated, passionate dancer.

"Boys aren't supposed to be graceful dancers."

So he was teased. A lot.

His classmates kept calling him gay,

And he'd get beat up at lunch for being "weak"

And he'd come home with a black eye,

Only to his brother telling him to "man up"

And that he can't twirl his way around this one

And always ended with the classic princess.

To this day,

Boys still get bullied for being dancers.

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way.

To this day

Kids are still being called names

Either the classics 

Or the updted arsenal of names

Students make up each year.

This is the world that we live in.

That doesn't mean we have to be proud of it.

Each school is a big top circus,

With everyone from acrobats and fire eaters,

Lion tamers and knife throwers.

All of them were a long way away

From where we were

Because we were the freaks.

The bearded ladies and the claw handed boys

That was us.

We were the jugglers 

Juggling lonliness and stress, 

Playing "Spin The Bottle"

Triyin to kiss our wounded selves

And heal.

But at night.

When everyone was fast asleep.

We walked across an unstable bridge

Connecting two mountains,

With an abyss in the middle.

And yeah, some of us fell

Into that bottomless pit of never ending despair.

But the ones of us that survived,

Had smashed what we thought we used to be.

And left behind the debris

Only to be swept away by more mocking and teasing.

If you don't find anything beautiful about yourself,

Walk across the bridge again

Until you reach the end.

Because there is motivation inside of you

That made you kep trying in the first place,

Regardless of everyone who informed you to cease.

You built your own cast

Which bandaged your heart

And you signed it yourself

You signed it

"They were wrong!"

So maybe you don't belong

To a group or a click

Or maybe even society.

Maybe you brought your chipped teeth to show,

But never told.

Because how are you supposed to stand your ground

When everyone around you wants to bury you

Beneath it.

You have to believe theu were wrong.

They have to be.

Because wy else would we still be here.

We were brought up routing for the underdogs

Because we see ourselves in them.

Not the fear, or the shame.

But the confidence, self belief, and beauty.

By Ysabella Miguel

~ Poetic Devices ~

Metaphor: 

- People are still being harrassed by lions.

- Outside was a battleround

- It was a jungle.

- Outdoors we were cheetahs sprinting to catch prey.

- We were the prey.

- Each school is a big top circus,

- Because we were the freaks.

The bearded ladies and the claw handed boys

That was us.

- We were the jugglers 

Juggling lonliness and stress, 

Similie:

- And we had learned to stand still

As if we were statues giving no hints

That we were there at all.

- Kids use to say she looked like

Someone had tried rubbing out a wrong answer,

And couldn't get the job quite done.

Hyperbole:

- Instead, we've been torn

Into a million pieces.

Climbed up a cliff of anxiety

Ans jumped off into a wave of deppression.

- But the ones of us that survived,

Had smashed what we thought we used to be.

And left behind the debris

Only to be swept away by more mocking and teasing.

Repetition:

- To this day