When I was a kid 

I used to think that pork chops and karate chops 

Were the same thing 

I thought they were both pork chops 

And because my grandmother thought it was cute 

And because they were my favorite

She let me keep doing it 

Not really a big deal

One day 

Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees 

I fell out of a tree 

And bruised the right side of my body

I didn't want to tell my grandmother about it 

Because I was afraid I'd get in trouble

For playing somewhere that I shouldn't have been

A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise 

And I got sent to the principal's office 

From there I was sent to another small room 

With a really nice lady 

Who asked me all kinds of questions 

About my life at home 

I saw no reason to lie 

As far as I was concerned 

Life was pretty good 

I told her "whenever I'm sad 

My grandmother gives me karate chops" 

This led to a full scale investigation

And I was removed from the house for three days 

Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school 

And I earned my first nickname 

Pork chop

To this day

I hate pork chops 

I'm not the only kid 

Who grew up this way 

Surrounded by people who used to say 

That rhyme about sticks and stones 

As if broken bones 

Hurt more than the names we got called 

And we got called them all 

So we grew up believing no one 

Would ever fall in love with us 

That we'd be lonely forever 

That we'd never meet someone 

To make us feel like the sun 

Was something they built for us 

In their tool shed 

So broken heart strings bled the blues 

As we tried to empty ourselves 

So we would feel nothing 

Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone 

That an ingrown life 

Is something surgeons can cut away 

That there's no way for it to metastasize 

It does

She was eight years old 

Our first day of grade three 

When she got called ugly 

We both got moved to the back of the class 

So we would stop get bombarded by spit balls 

But the school halls were a battleground 

Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day 

We used to stay inside for recess 

Because outside was worse 

Outside we'd have to rehearse running away 

Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there 

In grade five they taped a sign to her desk 

That read beware of dog 

To this day 

Despite a loving husband 

She doesn't think she's beautiful 

Because of a birthmark 

That takes up a little less than half of her face 

Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer 

That someone tried to erase 

But couldn't quite get the job done 

And they'll never understand 

That she's raising two kids 

Whose definition of beauty 

Begins with the word mom 

Because they see her heart 

Before they see her skin 

That she's only ever always been amazing 

He 

Was a broken branch 

Grafted onto a different family tree 

Adopted 

But not because his parents opted for a different destiny 

He was three when he became a mixed drink 

Of one part left alone 

And two parts tragedy

Started therapy in 8th grade 

Had a personality made up of tests and pills 

Lived like the uphills were mountains 

And the downhills were cliffs 

Four fifths suicidal 

A tidal wave of anti depressants 

And an adolescence of being called popper 

One part because of the pills 

And ninety nine parts because of the cruelty 

He tried to kill himself in grade ten 

When a kid who still had his mom and dad 

Had the audacity to tell him "get over it" as if depression 

Is something that can be remedied 

By any of the contents found in a first aid kit


To this day 

He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends 

Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends  

In the moments before it's about to fall 

And despite an army of friends 

Who all call him an inspiration 

He remains a conversation piece between people 

Who can't understand 

Sometimes becoming drug free 

Has less to do with addiction 

And more to do with sanity

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way 

To this day 

Kids are still being called names 

The classics were 

Hey stupid 

Hey spaz 

Seems like each school has an arsenal of names 

Getting updated every year 

And if a kid breaks in a school 

And no one around chooses to hear 

Do they make a sound? 

Are they just the background noise 

Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat 

When people say things like 

Kids can be cruel? 

Every school was a big top circus tent 

And the pecking order went 

From acrobats to lion tamers 

From clowns to carnies 

All of these were miles ahead of who we were 

We were freaks 

Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies 

Oddities 

Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle 

Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal 

But at night 

While the others slept 

We kept walking the tightrope 

It was practice 

And yes

Some of us fell

But I want to tell them 

That all of this 

Is just debris 

Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought

We used to be 

And if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself 

Get a better mirror 

Look a little closer 

Stare a little longer 

Because there's something inside you

That made you keep trying 

Despite everyone who told you to quit 

You built a cast around your broken heart 

And signed it yourself 

You signed it 

"they were wrong" 

Because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a click 

Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything 

Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth 

To show and tell but never told 

Because how can you hold your ground 

If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it 

You have to believe that they were wrong

They have to be wrong

Why else would we still be here? 

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog 

Because we see ourselves in them 

We stem from a root planted in the belief 

That we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway 

And if in some way we are 

Don't worry 

We only got out to walk and get gas 

We are graduating members from the class of 

of we made it 

Not the faded echoes of voices crying out 

Names will never hurt me

Of course 

They did

But our lives will only ever always 

Continue to be

A balancing act 

That has less to do with pain

And more to do with beauty.