Sticks and Stones

When I was younger

My father would say the same thing over and over again

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me"

But as I lie awake, with pounding thoughts in my head

As the stolen lunch money turned to more drastic measures

As my head hit the cement sidewalk at the edge of Martin Avenue

As all of that pain wouldn't subside

And I was left to rot

As a dirty human being, sitting in the filth of sin

Those words come back, you know

As the 2nd Grade taunts of 'four eyes, four eyes'

Turned to the speech impediments that my voice gained

And the darkness made a home in my veins

Yes, my veins

The blood flows so gently from it.