The School Playground

Globally in schools there is an epidemic of bullying.In certain cases, as in the U.S. revenge is taken to the ultimate level. Is this student Male or Female, Black or White? Their pain is real..

“School Playground”

         They found me in a street, with a gun by my feet

         And blood slowly oozing from my head,

         At the age of sixteen and a world I’d hardly seen,

         No-one knows why I wound up dead,

 

       I dressed kind of smart, always looking like the part,

         Of some kid who had it all,

        Got my grades in school, played by the rules,

        So how come I came to fall?

        I’ve been out on some dates, never came home late,

        Kissed my Mama and went to my room,

       As I went to my bed, with those thoughts in my head,

      That the problems of tomorrow still loom.

      Alone in a crowd, screaming yet not heard,

     “Teacher you’re not blind but you can’t see,

      I’m hurting deep inside, there’s something that I hide, 

      Why don’t people just let me be me?

      It’s been going on sometime, each day I’d cross the line,

     Of the school-yard just to see my friend,

     A  Pack of three or four, or sometimes even more,

     The threats they would start to send.

    Each one’s out to hurt, spits spewed upon my shirt,

     An easy target in full view,

    Encircling my space, their breath upon my face,

     “When class is over we’re coming for you!”

      Different rooms, different classes, education for the masses,

     How much longer will this pain last?  

     The   Wolves are after me, for reasons I can’t see,                  

      I’ve been chosen now the dies’ been cast,

      I’m so sorry Mom and Dad, didn’t want to make you sad,

     It’s the day of my final lesson,

     Just can’t take it anymore, as I walked out the door,  

     With some help from Mr Smith and Mr Wesson.

     Teasing and taunting, with words that were haunting,

     All around no-one seemed to care,

    “Teachers pet” they would hiss, imitate with a kiss,

      Steal my books and pull my hair,

      Inside I was crumbling, in my ears they were mumbling

     “You know you’re going down”,

      They try to make me cry, as the someone who must die,

       In the war-zone of the school playground.

       Some guys came to me, for plainly they could see,

        My fear as the Pack then retreated,

       “You ok?” I’d say “Yeah, this happens every day”,

        I was hurting but not defeated.

       “How was school?” Mom would pine, I’d lie and say “Fine,”

       I was coming as she was going,

        For the pain I went through, there’s nothing she could do,

        So it’s better without her knowing.  

          No time to talk, for she had to walk,

         To the bus-stop to get her ride,  

 

         Working some Motel, her body she would sell,  

 

         It’s a life that she tried to hide,   

 

        With a Dad gone away, without a word to say,  

 

        To flesh and blood he called his own,

 

        Not even a letter, to make me feel better,

 

        Not a dime for the telephone.

 

        I'm  not what they call dysfunctional, I’m a product of society,

        Where the ways of my childhood were monochrome,  

        It’s a life that just happens to be,

       School days are meant to be happy,

       But who are they trying to fool,

       For me they are the hardest,

       Full of torment and often so cruel.

      Being bullied and picked on each morning, 

      It was then that I made my pledge,

      The next time the pack come -a-hunting,

       I’m taking them over the edge.        

      We gathered in the hall, where the Head ran the call,

      Of the students who had made the grade,

     The Pack they got through, filing two by two,

     Thinking they had got it made,

     They then stared at me, their prey plain to see,

      Their plans already underway,

      Time is over with the playing, no more teasing, no more baying,

      Today the Pack are out to slay.

      Smirks and grins across their faces, this pack of different races,

      They smelled blood and I knew it was mine,

      It’s time for me to pay, no-one stands in their way,

      All because I’d crossed their line.

      With a lump in my throat, I reached for my coat,

       As I heard that final bell,

     “You won’t need that, forget about your hat,

       You won’t need them in Hell".

      The Pack had gathered round, pushed me to the ground,

       Punching and kicking and screaming,

       I can’t take it in, it can’t be happening,

       I felt I was only dreaming,

       Dragged behind some trees, forced unto my knees,

       My body shaking out of control,

       Punches to my head, soon I’ll be dead,

       They’ll even take my very soul.

       Pushed into a hedge, I thought about my pledge,

       I reached inside my bloodied shirt,

      Withdrew my thirty-eight and a heart full of hate,

       It’s time for the pack to eat dirt.

       With fear in their eyes, you could see their surprise,

       For they knew that I wasn’t messing,

        I released the first round, a Wolf hits the ground,

      Finding comfort in my Smith and Wesson.

      Some started to run, so I unleashed the gun,

      There were Wolves lying all around,

      It shouldn’t happen I was thinking, through tears I was blinking,

      But you began it in the school playground.

      And as I walked away, on that final school day,

     No more taunting, no more teasing, no more pain,

     The Pack had been sorted, silent faces, some distorted,

      No more friends will suffer again.

      But this is just one school, so don’t you be a fool,

      If you think it’s not going on,

       It happens every-day, a fact of life some say,

      Not some story or lines of fiction.

       And to this street I went, fulfilled, yet silent,

       Knowing what I‘d just done,

       My tears began to fall, ignoring the call, 

      “Armed police, hands up, drop your gun”.

       No fear for to stop, to listen to a cop,

      For all it’s too little, it’s too late,

      Put the gun to my brain, no more sorrow, no more pain,

      No-one wins, I squeezed that thirty-eight.......

 

Author's Note

One of my very first attempts at writing poetry and perhaps one of my most poignant.