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by Shane Koyzcan
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When I was a kid
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
Were the same thing
I thought they both pork chops
And because my grandmother thought it was cute
And because they were my favourite
She let me keep doing it
Not really a big deal
One day
Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I out of a tree
And bruised the right side of my body
I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
Because I was get in trouble
For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been
A few days later the gym noticed the bruise
And I got sent to the principal’s office
From there I was sent to another small room
With a really nice lady
Who asked me all kinds of questions
About my life at home
I saw no reason to lie
As far as I was concerned
Life was pretty good
I told her, “Whenever sad
My grandmother gives me karate chops”
This led to a full scale investigation
And I was removed from the house for days
Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises
News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
And I earned my first nickname
Pork Chop
To this day
I hate pork chops
I’m not the only kid
Who grew up this way
Surrounded by people who used to say
That rhyme about sticks and stones
As if broken bones
Hurt more than the names we got called
And we got called them all
So we grew up believing no one
Would ever fall in love with us
That we’d be lonely forever
That we’d never meet someone
To make us feel the sun
Was something they built for us
In their tool shed
So broken heart strings bled the blues
As we tried to ourselves
So we would feel nothing
tell me that hurts less than a bone
That an ingrown life
Is something can cut away
That there’s no way for it to metastasize
It does
She was eight years old
Our first day of grade three
When she got called ugly
We both got moved to the back of the class
So we would stop get bombarded by balls
But the school halls were a battleground
Where we found ourselves outnumbered day wretched day
We used to stay for recess
Because outside was worse
Outside we’d have to rehearse running away
Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
In grade five taped a sign to her desk
That read beware of dog
To this day
Despite a loving husband
She think she’s beautiful
Because of a birthmark
That up a little less half of her face
Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
That someone tried to erase
But couldn’t quite get the job done
And never understand
she’s raising two kids
Whose definition of beauty
Begins with the word mom
Because they see her heart
Before see her skin
Because she’s only ever always been amazing
He
Was a broken branch
Grafted a different family tree
Adopted
Not because his parents opted for a destiny
He was three when he became a mixed drink
Of one part left alone
And two parts tragedy
Started in 8th grade
Had a personality up of and pills
Lived like the uphills were mountains
And the downhills were cliffs
Four fifths suicidal
A tidal wave of depressants
And an of being called popper
One because of the pills
Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
He tried to kill himself in grade ten
When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad
Had the audacity to tell him “get over as if depression
Is something that can be remedied
By any of the contents found in a first aid kit
To this day
He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends
Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
In the moments before it’s about to fall
And despite an army of friends
Who all call him an inspiration
He remains a conversation piece between people
Who can’t understand
Sometimes becoming drug free
Has less to do with addiction
And more to do with sanity
We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
To this day
Kids are still being called names
The classics were
Hey stupid
Hey spaz
Seems each school has an arsenal of names
Getting updated every year
And if a kid breaks in a school
And no one around chooses to hear
Do they make a sound?
Are they the background noise
Of a stuck on repeat
When people say things like
Kids can be cruel?
Every school was a big top circus tent
And the pecking order went
acrobats to lion tamers
From clowns to carnies
All of these were of who we were
We were freaks
Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
Oddities
Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
But at night
While the others slept
We kept walking the tightrope
It was practice
And yes
of us fell
But I to tell them
That all of this shit
Is just debris
Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the we thought
We used to be
And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
Get a better mirror
Look a little closer
Stare a little longer
Because there’s something inside you
That made you keep trying
Despite everyone who told you to quit
You built a around your broken heart
And signed it yourself
You signed it
“They were wrong”
Because maybe you didn’t to a group or a clique
they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
To show and tell but never told
Because how can you hold your ground
If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
You have to believe that they were wrong
They have to be wrong
Why else would we still be here?
We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
Because we see ourselves in them
We stem from a root planted in the belief
That we are not what we were called
We are not cars stalled out and
Sitting empty on a highway
And if in some way we are
Don’t worry
We only got out to walk and get gas
We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It
Not the faded echoes of voices crying out
Names will never me
Of course
did
But our lives will only ever always
Continue to be
A balancing act
That has less to do with pain
And more to do with beauty
https://medium.com/poem-of-the-day/shane-koyczan-to-this-day-baae83cf75ee
I used to think that pork chops and karate chops
Were the same thing
I thought they both pork chops
And because my grandmother thought it was cute
And because they were my favourite
She let me keep doing it
Not really a big deal
One day
Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees
I out of a tree
And bruised the right side of my body
I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it
Because I was get in trouble
For playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been
A few days later the gym noticed the bruise
And I got sent to the principal’s office
From there I was sent to another small room
With a really nice lady
Who asked me all kinds of questions
About my life at home
I saw no reason to lie
As far as I was concerned
Life was pretty good
I told her, “Whenever sad
My grandmother gives me karate chops”
This led to a full scale investigation
And I was removed from the house for days
Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises
News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school
And I earned my first nickname
Pork Chop
To this day
I hate pork chops
I’m not the only kid
Who grew up this way
Surrounded by people who used to say
That rhyme about sticks and stones
As if broken bones
Hurt more than the names we got called
And we got called them all
So we grew up believing no one
Would ever fall in love with us
That we’d be lonely forever
That we’d never meet someone
To make us feel the sun
Was something they built for us
In their tool shed
So broken heart strings bled the blues
As we tried to ourselves
So we would feel nothing
tell me that hurts less than a bone
That an ingrown life
Is something can cut away
That there’s no way for it to metastasize
It does
She was eight years old
Our first day of grade three
When she got called ugly
We both got moved to the back of the class
So we would stop get bombarded by balls
But the school halls were a battleground
Where we found ourselves outnumbered day wretched day
We used to stay for recess
Because outside was worse
Outside we’d have to rehearse running away
Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there
In grade five taped a sign to her desk
That read beware of dog
To this day
Despite a loving husband
She think she’s beautiful
Because of a birthmark
That up a little less half of her face
Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer
That someone tried to erase
But couldn’t quite get the job done
And never understand
she’s raising two kids
Whose definition of beauty
Begins with the word mom
Because they see her heart
Before see her skin
Because she’s only ever always been amazing
He
Was a broken branch
Grafted a different family tree
Adopted
Not because his parents opted for a destiny
He was three when he became a mixed drink
Of one part left alone
And two parts tragedy
Started in 8th grade
Had a personality up of and pills
Lived like the uphills were mountains
And the downhills were cliffs
Four fifths suicidal
A tidal wave of depressants
And an of being called popper
One because of the pills
Ninety nine parts because of the cruelty
He tried to kill himself in grade ten
When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad
Had the audacity to tell him “get over as if depression
Is something that can be remedied
By any of the contents found in a first aid kit
To this day
He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends
Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends
In the moments before it’s about to fall
And despite an army of friends
Who all call him an inspiration
He remains a conversation piece between people
Who can’t understand
Sometimes becoming drug free
Has less to do with addiction
And more to do with sanity
We weren’t the only kids who grew up this way
To this day
Kids are still being called names
The classics were
Hey stupid
Hey spaz
Seems each school has an arsenal of names
Getting updated every year
And if a kid breaks in a school
And no one around chooses to hear
Do they make a sound?
Are they the background noise
Of a stuck on repeat
When people say things like
Kids can be cruel?
Every school was a big top circus tent
And the pecking order went
acrobats to lion tamers
From clowns to carnies
All of these were of who we were
We were freaks
Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies
Oddities
Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle
Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal
But at night
While the others slept
We kept walking the tightrope
It was practice
And yes
of us fell
But I to tell them
That all of this shit
Is just debris
Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the we thought
We used to be
And if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself
Get a better mirror
Look a little closer
Stare a little longer
Because there’s something inside you
That made you keep trying
Despite everyone who told you to quit
You built a around your broken heart
And signed it yourself
You signed it
“They were wrong”
Because maybe you didn’t to a group or a clique
they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
To show and tell but never told
Because how can you hold your ground
If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
You have to believe that they were wrong
They have to be wrong
Why else would we still be here?
We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog
Because we see ourselves in them
We stem from a root planted in the belief
That we are not what we were called
We are not cars stalled out and
Sitting empty on a highway
And if in some way we are
Don’t worry
We only got out to walk and get gas
We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It
Not the faded echoes of voices crying out
Names will never me
Of course
did
But our lives will only ever always
Continue to be
A balancing act
That has less to do with pain
And more to do with beauty
https://medium.com/poem-of-the-day/shane-koyczan-to-this-day-baae83cf75ee
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