I am disabled in many ways; speech impairment, epileptic, weak right side, blind in one eye and that's only a few! This poem is based on how I feel whenever I experience a period of when people throw taunts at me or even attempt to assault me - that happened a lot when I was younger, I would return home covered in blood with horrible taunts ringing in my ears. But this poem can also be put in the context of anyone who has suffered from bullying, believe me you don't have to be a teenager to be bullied, adults get bullied too. It was written when my mind was too full of memories and emotions and needed to be emptied so I put pen to paper.
Below is the poem entitled Being Different which was written by poet
Anderson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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Every day and night all I can
hear are strangers cursing,
cracking jokes, and laughing
at my distorted image.
Words become weaponry,
life never seems to be rid
of discrimation and abuse
that is polluting the very air
Children stare, some even cry
from the sudden fear that grows
when they see my distorted face.
Misunderstanding is thriving,
like a disease with no known cure.
Children I can endure, they
do not get under my skin like a
leech sucking life out of me.
Adults differ, they know the buttons
to press to cause hurt and unseen
agony; they seem to enjoy it.
I continue to smile, trying to mask my
true feelings but within my mind a voice
speaks, always negative, always flashing
terrible memories of my childhood assaults.
I am different, I know, but life seems to
view me in a different light.
Memories I bare create scars within
my lonely soul,
it desperately tries to fit in a world
of fragmented images of
what is considered beauty.
Normality does not come to those
who view the world in a light of
fixed images for life itself is always
different, always changing,
then yet I am viewed as an alien,
unwanted, feared, almost hated.
Still, I keep on living, regardless of
how many times sticks and stones
are thrown onto my path.
Who actually cares?
Seems like everyone but life
itself evolves and so shall I.