Poem

To My Childhood Bully

You are the ink stain on the coffee stain on the shittiest metaphor ever written. I know the real story behind your “battle wound” and I’m done humoring you.

Years back, when pigtails stood high on my head, I was the only one who could pin you to the ground and spit in your face. I was the only one who could put one foot on your chest and call you a dumb shit. But girls aren’t supposed to cuss. And girls aren’t supposed to fight back.

Well I’m not a girl.

I didn’t cower behind you because you were skinnier than me. I didn’t ask for your help because I knew you were too weak.

I’m not a girl.

And you are a sad excuse for a bully. Hand over your GI-Joes and plastic guns little boy because you don’t deserve them. You droopy faced, birth controlling, sheltered puppy. Stay in the back of my closet with the melted Barbie Doll heads and unstuffed teddy bears where you belong.

You don’t scare me kid. You think you can send me back to my training bras and high heels? I don’t need height; I tower under you at a massive five foot one. I don’t need spandex support; I’ve got duct tape. How much did that bad boy persona cost? Did you buy your ego all on your own?

I’m not a girl. I’ll break your skull in half. I will wear you down to the bones and spit out your limbs at your feet. I’m ready to kick until you see sideways. And I won’t back down till the front of my size 6 Dr. Martens are permanently tattooed on your forehead.

I’m not a girl. I’m the fucking wild one. And I am a better bully than you.