Bonus Cut Poetry: “#bully” By That Sweatpants Kid

This is Bonus Cut Poetry, a new series that features original poems by Bonus Cut staff, artists and YOU! In this series, our mission is to bring people together in poetry, share stories and display wonderful artistic pieces. If you would like to have your poems in the next Bonus Cut Poetry installment, just email us at bonuscut@gmail.com

This installment features Bonus Cut’s own That Sweatpants Kid.

#bully
By: That Sweatpants Kid

No more…please stop…no more (insert name of asshole here)…please please please stop…why can’t he hear…is it possible that he can’t see that I am in fear…what the fuck do I have to do to make it more clear…he’s shifting his unending rage into full gear…his glare was comparable to that of an angered steer…

No amount of weeping…like a sinner during a confession…could heal the torture allowed by my spiritual protection…no amount of pain and tears would send him into recession…thus leading to unending trauma and a case of depression…

No amount of begging would make the excitement go away…he looked like a man possessed…seemingly helpless of his ways…it was the demon he carried…that is all I could portray…to the therapist…as she asked me to explain…the horrors of being a kid in physical pain…only scars to prove it were the ones of my emotional disdain…

No amount of words could explain to mom why I was so afraid…to go back to school and socialize with friends I never made…I must confess that this abuse was more than just a haze…had to take some pills just survive another day…

In hell…looking up…like the rich man from the parable…I just wanted a sip from the cup…a sip of clarity…a sip of hope…that he would loosen the grip he had around my throat…I wanted to clear my mind of the negativity…and the idea of a rope…

I thought I had found my salvation in the form of a book…the pages were empty…so the burden of filling them in was the step that I took…changing the chemistry of the pages…I was completely on it’s hook…it was an escape from the suffering I no longer wanted to endure…I always looked back at my writings and ignored the allure…the enticing scent of emotional freedom…I couldn’t quite procure…

If only it had served as a permanent cure…

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