Bullying
Sometimes you get,
slagged, sometimes hit,
either a lot or just a bit,
if it continues it starts to hurt,
then thoughts come on,
anger pursues,
those lousy wasters.
I’ll give them what’s due,
they’ll soon see,
not to mess with me.
But I’m living in reality,
I’m small and weak,
no muscle at all,
and who can I call?
Paul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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