‘You’re Fat’ she said.
That was her biggest dread,
It hurt to hear that,
But hear it she did,
From Gemma, the prettiest kid,
Whom everyone fancied.
The girl who wore make-up.
Who could break up any couple,
Or friendship. Then watch you trip,
And laugh as you hurt your knee.
But she didn’t know, you cried- Secretly.

She’d cried out loud, The time they said ‘You fancy Slimy Pete!’
‘I don’t’ she’d shout, ‘I don’t!’
So they pulled her hair,
And made her eat, something-
Slippery and wet, as they clasped her eyes,
And let Slimy Pete come up to her,
And just miss, slobbering a kiss,
On her lips. But it caught her cheek.
That time she hid for the whole week!

One day she’d found a hideout,
Between a beech tree and an old goal post.
Where she could cry out.
Where none but the ghosts would visit,
To poke their unwanted noses in it,
Or invade her space.
Her private place.
The ghosts would listen quietly.
They might haunt the school,
But wouldn’t disturb her peace,
But eased her nerves,
So that she could sleep with ease.

At night, the bullies set up camp inside her head,
Around her bed, she could see them sneering,
Laughing and jeering, at her pink pyjamas,
Now wet with sweat.
As she cried,
Her eyes wide with fear,
Until morning was near.
As she rose, her eyes started,
To close, with fatigue.
She fell faint,
To a crumpled heap.

Mum found her lying asleep,
At the foot of the bed, where she slept With Dad.
Picking her up like a baby,
Mum rocked her as she cried,
Whilst Dad phoned the lady,
Head teacher, to tell her the stories,
Of the bullies glories.
Of how they’d hurt her daily.
She was upstairs with Mum,
Sobbing until her heart would break,
Crying with relief that it was all over.
That she was safe.