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Saturday, August 09, 2008


His name was Matt; I still remember that as clear as day.
He made my life so miserable, so long ago.
Back then, he called me names, but then, I didn’t know
what all those words had meant. He shouted every day,
“Hey China-Chink!” And snickers filled the bus in brays
and shame endowed me with its growing hood of woe.
He’s poke sadistic fun at Asians – loud and bold –
while friends of his would laugh and laugh each horrid day.

The sharpest sticks and twigs; the sharpest flint and stones -
could hurt me all they’d like and break my fragile bones.

But never could they hope to vie with words of ice,
more sharp than splinters, crueller than a sword of steel.
For bones can piece together; cuts can always heal –
but words shall always stay, embedded with their vice.


  1. I'm sorry, Mike. You're right, those words stay with us for many years.

  2. I had a harasser who was called ... never mind. He was also a boyscout, and taught me two tips of outdoor survival that have been a real help the last years. He's forgiven, as far as I am concerned. Out of sheer gratitude.

  3. My mom ended up calling him and he ended breaking down. It's ironic I've forgotten most of my friends, but I know his name - first and last - and every detail about him. I guess that's the way it goes. I can't say I haven't forgiven him, but the scars he's left behind don't hurt all that much anymore, so it's safe to say I've let go of the grudge.

  4. You have attained fame
    He will never gain on you
    His words spurred your light


A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!