Angry?  Yes but wouldn’t you be?

My name is Rick and I am sixty-three

I stand today just an old, tired man

A man who has tried to live with all he can

All my life, that was not a lot

I could not go to school to be taught

It’s not that it was not given a try

But I was left out to fry

It was before the words of tolerance and inclusion were used

Rocks thrown, sticks used to beat

I was too afraid to even look down the street

My spine never did heal right from being pushed from a tree

It grew hunchback for all to see

Life wasn’t better as I grew into an adult

Treated like I was part of a cult

Words thrown like the stones of my youth

Not anymore did I know the truth

People just pointed with the laugh of the ignorant

When it came to me, no one was tolerant

Beatings never went away

I wear the brunt to this day

My voice is still just a whisper

Broken at the hands of another

Words always did come slow

Now they just feel like they can’t go

Tired of being other’s freak

I’m really too afraid to speak

I have never been able to earn money of my own

My clothes so old, they are barely sewn

Small room with no belongings

I have really nothing

Barely able to truly eat

I wake up already beat

I can’t stand being even looked at

I try to cover my face with the brim of my hat

I don’t even know if people are hindering

Or being nice and helping

I just jerk away and yell

They haven’t seen my hell

All the laughing, poking, prodding

Living in bones that are constantly aching

Because, to them, I was just slow

A person that did not know

I feel the world has just beaten me to death

Waiting for my final breath

I am every amount of anger I feel and you see

Then again, wouldn’t you be?

October 12, 2010

© Andrew Scott – The People Poet