If I die tonight or any other night,
will people remember me?
I fought with the life that I had,
a journey with no map and an endless sea.
This is for you, and you, and you,
all those who have done wrong to me.
Those who have taken part in my life,
and dishonestly taken a part from me.
Reading books, keeping myself busy,
watching documentaries and shows on the tele.
All that investment wasn’t worth a thing for you,
maybe understanding people was the key.
I tried to keep things interesting,
always creating a better version of me.
I have tried to live with dignity,
but people’s thoughts defined me.
Have you ever noticed how ugly people, like me,
can’t afford to be angry, can’t afford to be mean.
Yet they’re responsible to improve their lives,
they avoid stereotypes, keep their feelings unseen.
“Your face is your business card”,
is what you implied in your dealing with me.
Hence business never did well,
you looked at the cover and judged me.
I wish to remove your criminal smile
by the end of this poem, you see.
I wish to curse you with words,
beat you down to your knees.
I wish you wake up from nightmares,
drenched in sweat and deafening screams.
A part of my heart will never heal,
you’ve destroyed that part of me.
I didn’t choose this life, this face, this body,
I didn’t choose my mind’s physics or chemistry.
How easily you remove your crimes from my life,
yet my supposed mistakes must stick with me?
I hope you’re criticized, judged, looked down upon,
laughed upon during your misery.
Dear bully, I hope you die a slow, painful death,
while there was still hope for your recovery.