A poem I wrote about being bullied. Those people think they know you, so they make fun of what's on the outside, and judge you. But they have no idea who you really are within. Not the most well-written piece, but I still like it.
You couldn't bear what I have seen,
but still you claim to know my pain.
My words, you twist and tumble
'til your truth I do ordain.
You know not if I have sinned,
and yet you place my on a cross.
'Tis here I shall repent,
for now your grievance is my loss.
My tears, to thee, are sweet-
like an early springtime song.
The taste of my defeat
shall remain with you for long.
So I shall hang my head,
give you that for which you've asked.
Joyful hope is dead-
my truths seem now unmasked.
At my sentiment you laugh,
and it shall be forevermore just this.
Let no man write my epitaph
'til one soul do me justice.
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