St Clare's Primary School Harold's Cross Dublin 6W

I am the person you bullied at school,
I am the person who didn’t know how to be cool,
I am the person you alienated,
I am the person you ridiculed and hated.

I am the person who sat on her own,
I am the person who walked home alone,
I am the person you scared every day,
I am the person who had nothing to say.

I am the person with hurt in her eyes,
I am the person you never saw cry,
I am the person living alone with her fears,
I am the person destroyed by her peers.

I am the person who drowned in your scorn,
I am the person who wished she hadn’t been born,
I am the person you destroyed for ‘fun’,
I am the person, but not the only one.

I am the person whose name you don’t know,
I am the person who just can’t let go,
I am the person who has feelings too,
And I was a person, just like you.

(This poem was written for the BEAT BULLYING ad in the UK and narrated by celebrity sports people.)

REMEMBER ME?
I AM THE BOY WHO SOUGHT FRIENDSHIP;
THE BOY YOU TURNED AWAY.
I THE BOY WHO ASKED YOU
IF I TOO MIGHT PLAY.
I THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
WHEN YOUR PARTY WAS INSIDE,
I THE LONELY FIGURE
THAT WALKED AWAY AND CRIED.
I THE ONE WHO HUNG AROUND
A PUNCHBAG FOR YOUR GAMES.
SOMEONE YOU COULD KICK AND BEAT,
SOMEONE TO CALL NAMES.
BUT HOW STRANGE IS THE CHANGE
AFTER TIME HAS HURRIED BY,
FOUR YEARS HAVE PASSED SINCE THEN
NOW I’M NOT SO QUICK TO CRY.
I’M BIGGER AND I’M STRONGER,
I’VE GROWN A FOOT IN HEIGHT,
SUDDENLY I’M POPULAR
AND YOU’RE LEFT OUT THE LIGHT.
I COULD, IF I WANTED,
BE SO UNKIND TO YOU.
I WOULD ONLY HAVE TO SAY
AND THE OTHER BOYS WOULD DO.
BUT THE MEMORY OF MY PAIN
HOLDS BACK THE REVENGE I’D PLANNED
AND INSTEAD, I FEEL MUCH STRONGER
BY OFFERING YOU MY HAND.

By Ray Mather

My Walk to School

Fist punch.
Foot crunch.
Hand hit.
Mouth spit.
Eye swells.
Can’t see.
Please,
Please,
Let me be.

Rips my homework.
Steals my money.
Grabs my lunch.
Thinks it’s funny.

I won’t tell, I swear I won’t.
Please don’t do that. I said “Don’t!”

Sticks and stones may break my bones…
Sissy
Prissy
Four-eyes
Geek
Fatso
Stupid
Nerdy
Freak
…but names can really hurt.

Through the doors.
Up the stairs.
Face is bloody.
No one cares.

In the washroom.
Clean up the mess.
I’ll be safe
Until … recess.

By Andrea Wilson

It used to be I’d hop out of bed,
So eager to start my day.
But times have changed. I ask my mom,
“Can I stay home from school today?”

I find a lot of grounds,
To justify my stance.
I plead, I beg, I frown,
I do a little dance.

“My ears, they ache. My tummy’s sore.
”I blow my nose and cough some more.
“What are these spots upon my chest?”
I wheeze. I sneeze. I do my best.

My Mom sits down beside my bed.
“You are not sick.” I turn bright red.
I know she hates it when I lie.
She’d understand if she knew why.

So should I tell her of my woes?
And will it change things if she knows?
I fear she’ll only make things worse.
If I don’t tell her, I think I’ll burst.

And so I tell her of the clique.
The girls who say that I’m a “geek”.
I tell of giggles,
The whispers,
The rumors.
I talk of their spite,
They cruel sense of humor.

And …

It feels so good to vent.
Although it’s so private.
I talk and talk.
My Mom’s very quiet.

She says to me gently,“
I’m terribly sorry.”
We hug and we cry.
We go over my story.

Together we look at the things we can do.
I’m no longer alone; we have a plan too.
I think I can face being teased and harassed.
With Mom on my side, my power is vast.

by Andrea Wilson

Look, I was only teasing.
C’mon, it’s all in fun.
You got no sense of humor?
Aren’t we the touchy one!

But I don’t find it funny.
I guess I missed the joke.
Thought if I say that outright,
They’ll laugh until they croak.

Hey! Can’t you take a joke, kid?
Are jokes supposed to hurt?
I fail to see the humor.
You called me “stupid jerk”!

My! Your skin is awfully thin.
Stop getting so perturbed.
Hello! We all have feelings!
I guess you haven’t heard.

What side did you get out of bed?
Why can’t you let me be?
Because you’re really fun to bug.
It’s awesome, can’t you see?

Could be you find it funny.Perhaps you cannot learn.
But history has a nasty way,Of making it your turn.

by Andrea Wilson

Don’t carry the burden alone……… tell someone.