I watch them in the hall,
the subtle ways they accept or shun:
a hug given (or not),
furrowed brow and sideways glance–
their body language denies
entry into the inner circle
if you do not dress the part
speak the part
act the part
give in.
Their long, slimness
sneers at difference.
All it takes to become a target:
the wrong clothes,
an awkward laugh,
an extra pound.
The attack is relentless
and indirect–
a pound a flesh taken
via the soul.
It’s an old game,
played out in the same
spaces
every year.
How many have they broken?
Powerful poem, Brigit, and yes, how many have they broken?
~ Marie
Thanks, Marie
I definitely felt the weight of your words as someone who was always on the outside, someone who didn’t quite fit. And now, I see kids have become much worse. The bullying in schools seems to have become even more extreme. May we all learn to build each other up, rather than tear each other down.