You push me back,
You break me down.
With your Words,
that catch,
and stick to me,
like glue on paper.
I try to wash them away,
ice cream carton, after carton
Like in movies, right?
But they still hold,
like a song, stuck in my head,
I cannot forget them.

And my friends tell me to be strong,
that you are not worth the pain,
there is nothing to gain.
We were once so close,
but now,
every look at you hurts.
And so I did run,
far away,
from you,
and your lashing tongue.
But you continued to chase me mercilessly,
beating me into corners,
and whipping me over and over again,
with your hurtful Words.

Words,
that should be all they are,
I tell myself.
Just Words,
little sounds,
made by vocal chords,
learned in the early ages of a child,
when they were still young and innocent.
And the world was far away,
on the other side of the red painted door.
But that is a lie,
they are not just Words.
No, for if they were,
I would walk,
with my head held high,
fearless, and brave.
Instead, I cower,
and run for cover,
every time you look at me.

And I can't help but think,
No, know.
That your Words are more powerful then mine.
They cut more,
They convince more.
For every time your Words hurt me,
my Words always try to heal the cuts,
but they never do.

So time after time,
I wither away,
crumbling under the heavy weight of your Words,
because mine, are so weak after all.

Over the summer,
after a year of your abuse,
I come back:
Different.

I do not know what has changed,
but my thoughts,
my actions,
my Words,
suddenly seem stronger.
I feel stronger.

And it is,
on this wave of euphoria,
that I ride into school.
Floating on a cloud,
wielding stronger Words myself,
hoping,
no,
knowing,
that they will be better,
and fiercer than yours.

And so when you come up to me,
I don't cower,
I don't hide,
But I look you straight in the eye.
You hesitate,
sensing a different reaction,
a different me.
But then continue with your onslaught of Words,
but they do not hurt me.
They can not touch me,
not anymore.
Because they are nothing,
they have no value to me,
they are words yes,
but they are not real Words.
Real Words would matter to me,
but these,
I will not even give them the honor,
of being called,
a Word.

You scream at me,
I scream at you,
louder, then louder, then louder,
until you have no more Words left.
And my Words,
are better than yours.