The Butcher

When you look at me, I’m scared of what you will say. Your eyes are portals into the darkness of your mind, which is concocting an emotional outburst, I just know it. Your hands are showing 

The reflection of your impulses, and the vein in your neck protrudes just enough to be the opposite of normal. It‘s normal now. For me.

Those lines we walk through, the crowds of rushing people, the back alleys of torment, crowded with the bruised and beaten all from your fucked up mouth. The secretion you inflict 

On the people. From the things you right, those damned things you say, the looks you give, we all know what is coming. Doesn’t matter who you are, the look is the same. It’s a gift, this thing, and every single one of you has it. With the 

Coming of morning, and the rush of the cold you stand in watch, waiting for the scared line of internal dweebs and dorks to scuttle past just so they know your there today. You walk the halls 

Preying on every gay, f*g, or lesbian. The Fat Asses, the Cum Buckets, those f*****g B*****s and Maggots, the Gingers with no f*****g soul, and the last of the scanks and sausage suckers. They dwaddle past 

You, you’re mind is waiting to launch, and not even a teacher can stop you. Yeah, You people are the Kings of the World, aren’t you? 

How do you know any of us? The Dweebs and Dorks who sit at home studying so they can get good grades, so they can talk to their only friend without getting screamed at. The Gays and F**s who want nothing more than to be treated like everyone else in this f*****g joint. the Fat Asses who eat the more you spit fire onto their backs, the Cum Bucket’s who can’t stand the though of sex, God the images of…….. The B*****s and Maggots who, to feel anything, cling to any sort of smile coming their way, the Ginger who stands in the mirror contemplating on taking the razor to those freckles, so that maybe God could give him a soul too, and the scanks and sausage suckers who just want to be loved. 

How do you know any of us? You try and expose us. 

I wade through the routes of stale white until I reached the wide, welcoming doors of my home, my stage, and see the dozens of happy faces laughing and holding each other  for who they are. And I cry knowing that this feeling, that feeling when I’m standing there looking in, is the closest thing I’ll ever come to peeling that mask off. That they are the only ones who have come any deeper into knowing me. 

I walk the halls with a painted smile, the real one you’ve already taken from me. These, accusations that have shaped my life, you’re words that have carved my skin, have 

Crafted this mask I wear, protecting the real me from the rest of the world. Me, no. I can’t hold anyone in my heart. I can’t sit beside a girl and have my arm around her shoulders, knowing she’s going to be there tomorrow morning. I can’t  stand holding some perfect guys hand because of the lesions you’d slash my body with after, no I couldn’t take that. 

Fact is, there’s no escaping your wrath. You’re nothing. But there’s no escaping what you’ve already done. 

Your’re Butchers, your B******s, 

And you’ve fucked us all up. 

Author's Note

fucking tossers

Reviews

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

When you reviewed my last piece my curiosity was stirred, who is this.....I wandered to your poetry and read this brilliant piece. You speak the anger that is in my heart that I usually keep to myself. I can't stand a bully. I was very ugly as a child and picked on and I know how mean and cruel the world can be. You have penned this magnificently. Thank you!

[Helrac]

That was really emotionally charged and powerful. Venemous words spurred on by venemous people full of hate. Very nice. "your words that have carved my skin, have crafted this mask I wear" my favorite part.