Parasites

My mother told me long ago to be kind to those I met.

I didn’t know their stories. I didn’t know their lives. Treat them well, she said.

I gave the bully an eraser when she had none. She scared me and made me cry. “Coward.”

I drew a classmate a picture, he tore it with scissors. “Dumb.”

I gave the new girl a watch because I heard her say she wanted one. “Faggot,” she said as they called me names.

They took and they took and gave nothing back. My crayons were missing and I stayed behind when they all went to play. I stayed away.

I couldn’t hear their laughter as I cried and tore my skin. I hated myself as my nails tore and tore.

I hated them. They left as I called them friends. They turned away. I went on, but I was no better.

Their knives in my back were cold as they grew into my bones. “What beautiful wings” they said, I couldn’t see. Wings hurt.

I trusted my mother. I didn’t know them. Even as I bled, I gave. I gave. I gave.

A girl who called me friend took away my favorite necklace. I helped a woman in pain and she threw me out when I said no. My fingers bleed as the teeth of the beasts I had fed from my beating, bleeding heart. Empty praise fed me, I marched on unnoticed.

I cry at night. I watch the clock turn back and I see myself torn apart. I hate that kindness my mother cursed me with.

My mother told me to be kind, and that kindness took from me my life.

I hate my mind. I hate my body. And still the people take and take and take. “A wonder” they say as they stuff my blood and body into their greedy mouths.

Parasites, they feed on my bleeding heart. And as I die, they will die with me.