GLOWrious Leaders

Poem by Latia Wilks (2015 Camper)

I am Alex.

My parents tell me I was born small

The tumor in my head sapped my strength

The doctors did their best – and I live.

I live with what they – naïve

Think as deformity.

I am not disabled or disfigured or disformed.

I was forged from the spirit of swords

From the time of warriors past.

I am not how they, you, he, she

Sees me.

Believe me.

You’re ones who are wrong…

In your biting words,

Trying to tear me apart,

You think of me as…

Ugly.

You trod on me, as though

I am low-er than the dirt beneath your feet

Making me smaller than the day I was born.

Isolation makes the misery more intense.

When at night, alone with your words and the thoughts pushing against my skull.

I want to scream. Even the strongest swords rust…right?

I want to turn your hatred against you.

Force you to feel the hurt of your words and the influence on ordinary me.

Your words slice, cut me up worse than the sharp scapels wielded by the doctors who saved me.

And with different intent.

Intent of malice.

Every day is a test, of repelling your words

With the bulletproof armour of practiced apathy.

You judge. You observe, but you are wrong.

 

My scar is not a problem to be corrected.

It is survival, powerful,

Strong.

 

23/06/15