Please Stop Hitting Me

Please Stop Hitting Me

Painting one’s life with shades of gray,

Makes little impressions or so they say.

Melancholy tones and sighs of discontent,

Over shadows the sunshine that’s daily sent.

Depression and anxiety suffered by many,

Those who suffer in silence and whose souls are empty.

Brought on by violence whether now or years before,

Causes a mind to be crippled rejecting an encore.

Pushed away from society because of their difference,

Doesn’t limit their capacity, only self-confidence.

Some stand in corners while others wear masks,

Year upon year they pretend, but nothing lasts.

In time, there is a revealing, an unraveling,

Of the horror once suffered, seen or unseen.

It’s in those corners far from others they stand,

Praying and crying alone, trying to understand.

There’s little sympathy for the outcasts from life,

Those in the corner, thrashing with invisible knives.

Little victory is seen by the onlookers,

But childhood victims often become the best authors.