Private pain,
Buried deep,
Open wounds that bleed and seep.
Walking wounded
Just trying to survive.
Unable to handle all the adult jive,
As they fight to escape childhood’s cage,
Teenagers abuse others with their rage.
Walking wounded, hear my plea!
Trading pain by inflicting it, is not the way
It will torment your soul at the end of your days.
Open up your steely vault.
Stop hiding behind a mask.
Talking it out is the task.
Author’s Comments: After twenty years, I was finally able to talk to two of my high school tormenters and found out that they were in just as much pain as I was. (One, I wrote about in the blog entitled "The One Guy I Wanted to Put In A Body Cast") The other guy was being messed with by others at school. All three of us were suffering for different reasons and it manifested in a bad situation for all concerned. It’s funny because I always thought they had it so together but it was just an illusion created by their masks.
This poem is respectfully dedicated to the two St. Clement Crusaders I once considered bitter enemies and now just distant friends.
To any teenagers reading this poem, if you are suffering such searing pain in your heart get it out. Talk to someone you trust. Don’t turn it on others! It’s not worth the pain it will cause them nor is it worth the pain it will cause you to remember what you’d done as you whither and age!
