The Gall to Speak Up

My heart would forgive you,

If only my mind let it.

I don’t think it has yet forgotten what you did to me,

Or how you developed in me such courage and grit.

Through those times of torture, I don’t know why I thought of you as a messiah

I do know now; you were nothing but a two-faced liar,

But I had a habit, one of being wrong about most people,

And you sir, to those habits, were nothing but a sequel.

I remember how constantly, I, used to look up to you,

How you rewarded me, with my cheeks turning red, courtesy of your rigid shoe.

How you terrorized me, sadistically, day in, and day out.

How you transformed me into another person, a feeble one, no doubt.

Some people called it trauma, I called it an experience.

All your beatings, and your insults, they were nothing but a grievance.

But through those wicked punches, slaps, and karate kicks galore,

There was one thing though, about which, I was very sure.

T’was that you’d helped me bring myself together.

Your punches made me stronger. Your chops more perseverant.

Your verbal volleys and outbursts, made my thoughts more coherent.

And because of you, I had, absolutely nothing to lose.

I could snatch my freedom, expose you, and describe to people your abuse.

Your time was over. It was mine, to rise

Mine, to show everyone, all your beatings, and your lies.

I am glad I spoke out, and told my story to the world.

Glad, I told people how you broke me, tortured me, and let no ends fold.

For if it weren’t me, I feared for someone else, who mightn’t be this bold.

You made me famous. Not for being the boy who got bullied.

Or the guy who got beat up.

But, for being the boy, who that the gumption and the gall to speak up.