Poem To My 12-Year-Old Self
I'll never understand
how you survived those hate-filled hallways
on your own.
How you walked with your head held high,
however hard it may have been at times,
past those boys and girls who threw words like fists,
shouting out ugly terms:
“d*ke,” “fatty,” “butch,” and “wh*re,”
just to name a few.
But you did it;
even if the tears fell,
you walked on.
You wrote for them
every time the tears fell from your eyes.
You wrote for those very ones
who went out of their way to hurt you,
sometimes about the friends that you all
might have been in another time and place.
I wish I could go back
and hold your hand,
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