A snowball
To the back of my head—
Hung low and unaware—
Made with snow as beautiful
As diamonds
Glittering on the ground,
But when transformed
Into a missle,
It becomes
Hard and adamantine,
Entirely unrelenting,
A brutal awakening,
Reminding me of
The cruelty
Surrounding me,
Pressing in
On all sides.

Icy slush
Dripping down
The back of my shirt,
Accenting the cold, mocking cries
Of my tormentors.
Their words char me
To a crisp,
Scorching me more
Than a fire ever could,
As I stand
With my eyes closed,
Trying to keep the
Kindled fire inside,
As my cheeks
Burn with embaressment
And my neck burns with cold.

They laugh,
And I can see their
Smirking faces,
Though my eyes
Are squeezed shut
And turned away.
My fists clench;
I feel like I am
Drowning in sweat,
Consumed with the heat
Of rage.
Everything sounds far away,
Tinny, muted,
Like I am standing
On the other side
Of a glass door.

Not once do I glance
Their way,
As they watch
Their little ‘joke’
Run quickly away–
Tears streaming down
Her red face,
Head down,
Knowing perfectly well
That the snowball
Was aimed at her,
The ‘b****’—
From their spreading,
Contemptful laughter.
I imagine they are
High-fiving one another,
As they watch
The undignified retreat
Of the ‘loser’,
Their very own ‘freak’.