Teenage Poetry #1 and Being Picked On As A Child

Some old “poetry” I found in my teenage journal. Let’s guess who owned a rhyming dictionary, shall we?
I don’t know what’s wrong with me
Am I really this messed
I’m just like them, why can’t the see?
I feel like I’m being possessed
I don’t know what I feel
I just want to fit in
These wounds will always heal
Want to fight back but I’ll never win
I’m tired of the lies, the cuts and the bruises
I’m sick of the pain, the hatred of me
Forget the teachers and all their excuses
Can’t we all just get along, wouldn't you agree?
How many more times will I be kicked to the ground
How many more times will I be insulted and mocked?
Do they pick on me because I can’t make a sound?
I run away but I’m being stalked.



If you couldn’t guess, I was picked on a lot as a kid, and through my teens. I was the classic weird kid. Super smart, shy, practically mute, speech impediment, weird interests, weak, gullible. 
I remember as a kid, maybe around 8 or 9 years old, I was playing with a group of kids, and they told me that them hitting me was because we’re friends. Socially confused me believed them. I let them hit me, at recess, thinking it was a game.
Another game we played was throwing a tennis ball against the wall, there were so many changing rules I was always breaking one, which results in you having to stand against the wall and have everyone throw a tennis ball at you. Which, in hindsight, I realize I was the only one who ever had to do that. 
Please, parents, teachers, friends of those autistic kids, socially awkward kids, shy kids; please make sure they know they’re being used. Please make sure they understand games aren’t meant to hurt them or use them. 

This one kid I knew, said he would only be my friend if I gave him 25¢ everyday. Eventually I realized I would rather have a sour key (25¢ from the school store) and sit by myself at recess.

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