To This Day- A Spoken Poem
By Shane Koyzcan
"When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing.
I thought they were both pork chops and because my grandmother thought it was cute
and because they were my favorite 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 fell 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 afraid I’d get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been.
A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal’s office
from there I was sent to another small roomwith 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 I’m sad my grandmother gives me karate chops” This led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from the house for three 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 like the sun
was something they built for us
in their tool shed,
so broken heart strings bled the blues
as we tried to empty ourselves
so we would feel nothing
don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone,
that an ingrown life
is something surgeons 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 spit balls,
but the school halls were a battleground
where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day
we used to stay inside 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 they taped a sign to the front of her desk
that read "beware of dog"
to this day
despite a loving husband
she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
because of a birthmark
that takes up a little less than 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 they’ll never understand
that she’s raising two kids
whose definition of beauty
begins with the word mom
because they see her heart
before they see her skin
becuase she’s only ever always been amazing
he
was a broken branch
grafted onto a different family tree
-adopted.
not because his parents opted for a different destiny
he was three when he became a mixed drink
of one part left alone
and two parts tragedy
started therapy in 8th grade
had a personality made up of tests and pills
lived like the uphills were mountains
and the downhills were cliffs
four fifths suicidal
a tidal wave of anti depressants
and an adolescence of being called popper-
one part because of the pills
and 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 it” -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 on 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 being 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 like every 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 just the background noise
of a soundtrack 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
from acrobats to lion tamers
from clowns to carnies
all of these were miles ahead 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 yeah
some of us fell-
but I want to tell them
that all of this
is just debris
leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things 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 cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong!”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click
maybe 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 abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on some 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
of we made it!
not the faded echoes of voices crying out
"names will never hurt me,"
of course...
they 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.
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