Childhood Memories, A Poem

Hatred courses through me
Like the California Wildfires.
The taint of reading
About the children's suicide
And the Pain they've endured
Flashes me back
To the days of my own
Suffering and humiliation.

The times were less then,
The days seemed shorter
And the hatred infinite.
The children drew their power
From my naivete
And turned it all back on me,
Whisper campaigns
In the old child's way
Following me like flies,
Constantly buzzing
And tearing my attention
Away from those
Who deserved it most.

These harsh words,
About my size
And about my preference,
Were wolves of grammar,
Gnawing at my
Pride and self-esteem,
Until nothing else
Was left in my place
But an insecure child
Frightened to be outside
Or communicate with others.

My friends were my toys,
Bits of plastic
Imbued with thoughts
And feelings and souls,
Entire communities of them
Existing purely
On the power of
My imagination.
I was a superhero,
A god manipulating
The good guys
Into confrontations
Where the bad guys
Always suffered as I had,
And the heroes
Always saved the day.

On particularly bad days
The villains would die,
Limbs rent from
The injection molding
And sent flying,
Old toys meeting their end
And making way
For a new input group.
The life cycle was short
And replacements
Were a beg away.

But when I would leave
The pain would return,
And a turn of the corner
Would bring my happiness
Crashing down.
The neighbourhood kids,
Intimidated by intelligence
And frustrated
By unimaginative lives
Would torment me
And humiliate me
And turn my life
Back in to
The hellish world
I frequently knew.

I see a new generation
Coming up as I had
And feeling the pain
As I have felt.
I want to reach out to them
And guide them
As I wished to be guided
Or give them
The tools that helped me
Endure the pain.
But I can't.
This type of pain,
As I know from experience,
Is a personal matter,
And learning to live
With what they've done
Is a part
Of growing up strong.

Some people can not.
Some people have seen
And felt too much
And in their eyes
Life is pain
And death is the excess
They've been longing for
So they indulge.
I can not nor will not
Hate or judge them.
The people who drove them
To their untimely graves
Need to suffer
As we have suffered.

And once more
I am reminded of
The ineffectual concept
Of Karma
And how "What goes around
Comes around"
And realize
These bullies and their ilk
Get what they want
One-hundred percent
Of the time.
And I weep for the future
Of not just America
But the world.
For in seeing what I know
Is coming of age
I know of our
Downward Destiny.