cycle of self

It’s not their fault they look like that, I used to say.

One boy in particular in elementary school comes to mind.

Curly hair, soft spoken, a little odd.

I found a fondness for him, a kindred spirit if you will.

Mocked, for reasons unknown to me, we both endured.

I never got it.

Why would you do that?

Physical abnormalities you could call them.

His curly hair, my being tall and awkward.

Things we could do nothing about.

Yet almost torturous we dealt with the laughs, the words.

The many words that stung.

Tired of standing up for myself, my focus turned to him.

My words were strong.

On his behalf I stood, bold and unmovable.

In my own way, this was on my behalf as well.

Masked slightly but standing in for the same efforts.

To make fun of someone for things out of their control,

I cannot understand, I simply do not.

To what purpose does it serve?

Then it came to me,

Insecure in their own skin,

Anger turned sideways,

Aimed outward.

It’s nothing more than a cycle.

They were mocked therefore they mock.

It takes looking beyond your own pain to see the pain in others.

In their meanness, inside their rage, inside their unthinkable behavior,

I simply feel sorry for them.

It’s sad though, that it takes having to build up a thick skin to realize this.