Echo: A Poem on Bullying

I have previously touched on the subject of bullying on my blog before. Bullying is an issue which affects so many teenagers, and I regret to say I am among their number. It seems in secondary school especially, that there are some people that just make it their mission to single out anyone who is remotely different in any way; to harass, to jeer, to inflict harm. Without a doubt, many of those with Asperger’s will experience bullying at some point in their life time. We’re predisposed to be different to our peers. To me, the psyche of a bully is one of the most indecipherable things in the world. It is difficult for me to comprehend the desire to inflict pain on another human being. Despite the fact that bullying is an incredibly serious matter, it is unfortunately it is not always treated that way. The damage inflicted by bullying can be devastating, causing psychological trauma, a reduced academic achievement, severe anxiety and unfortunately in some cases, leading young people to take their own lives. Bullying leaves behind it an agonizing trail.

The effects of bullying don’t end when the bullying ends, they can stay with a person for a lifetime. This is the message I intend to get across in the following poem. I wrote this poem a few weeks ago, based on events that happened three years ago. I have encountered bullying at many points in my life, however it was this time that would have the most severe effects. Things have since greatly improved in many ways, a lot has changed. I now attend a different school (for unrelated reasons) and I am much more confident than the timid fourteen year old I once was; perhaps unrecognizable even. However the memories of when I was bullied still haunt me. This poem is based off my own experiences, but I hope it can convey not only that but also the universal feelings experienced by those who have experienced bullying. (Just a small warning, I used a politically incorrect term in the poem, which I would never use outside of this context. I was trying to replicate the abusive language that would be used by some teenagers where I live.)

 

Echo

 

I’ve moved on

But I hear them still,

His voice and his voice and his voice

Grasping and the tearing the strands

Of my being.

 

Scrunched up paper, the projectile,

Hit me on the back of the skull,

Less sharp that the words it wore

 

And I didn’t need to open it

To know what it said.

“Geek, Loner, Freak, Faggot, Piece of Shit:

We mark you a different thing to us.”

 

And with every word,

Every scrunched up piece of paper,

With hanging hair

And hanging eyes

That avoided every

Glance shot at them,

We built a silencing wall

Around me

To prove I am no person,

I am just a thing.

 

Now, I’ve grown more than a centimetre

And moved more than a mile,

I like to believe,

When life is torrential,

That plants echo

The tempests

That both rack and borne them:

Makes everything feel worth it,

Maybe.

 

But I’d never wish my walls on any person,

Because

Though I’ve moved on,

I hear them still.

 

©Tadhg Ó Ciardha, 2016

We built a silencing wall around me