Wednesday, August 5, 2015

The Poem of a Bully Victim

It started in grade school,
when everybody called me a fool.
Those classmates of mine trying to act cool,
Their fist is their most powerful tool.

I hate those dark and sorrowful days,
when they won't let me home without a punch on my face.
This little boy who took more than enough.
This pity little boy who can barely laugh.

At home, I can tell if it's not over.
He'll add the bruises that I try to cover.
A few strikes of leather belt from my drunkard dad.
What have I done for deserving something bad?

All of these was left inside the core.
The pain, the agony, the violence and the gore.
Why do I feel that I am an eyesore?
How I wish I can never go back anymore.

And then I tried to skip school.
Tried to escape from being called a fool.
Tried to forget all these bruise marks,
As I leave my school bag in the amusement park.

And then at home I saw my dad,
walking closely while holding a rod.
I knew that I was told by the teacher.
And tonight, I, again, became a victim of anger.

Why do I deserve this? Why are they doing this?
Was there something good that I missed?
Is there anyone who can tell?
So I can leave this life that's full of hell.

I left home without anyone knowing.
Went to the city unsure of growing.
Where will I sleep? I do not know.
But happiness is not at home though.

And then I saw other kids living in the streets,
eating leftover food, on a cardboard where they sit.
For them the stinking garbage is their happy meal.
It may be wrong but I know how they feel.

I decided to go with them for the sake of living.
On a dirty black sewer they were diving.
Those junk valuables, they were collecting.
That's what they do in the morning.

Everything goes worse at night.
When someone opens the street lights.
We tried to steal at people against their will,
just to have more than that value meal.

Years and years is still the same.
Thievery is now just a simple game.
Living myself with a gang of thieves.
Some are already dead, some still lives.

Until one day, a tall man called me.
He asked me to deliver something in exchange of money.
It was two small thin paper bags.
Inside of it was grains of illegal drugs.

I was satisfied being a courier.
I can now eat delicious food by working better.
When carrying them, be lightly on your feet.
When an officer is around, better now to show it.

Everyday I have to live this dangerous life.
In my back pocket, I have to hide a small knife.
Until my boss said that it is not fun,
So he decided to buy me a gun.

He gave me orders and gave me a tap,
"instead of stealing and carrying drugs, why don't you kidnap?
Would you go back earning coins in stealing,
when you can gain lots of money from killing?"

My first hunt was not so fun.
For I have not used a gun.
I puked on what I have done.
It was the first time I have killed someone.

Until the second, the third, the fourth and the fifth.
This job, for me, is becoming a gift.
Until I became a professional human hunter.
Until my honor was broken asunder.

Every night when I go to bed.
I have to fulfill the things I have said.
My dad and my classmates are still in my head.
"When I see them, they will be dead!"