Bullied To Death- A Poem

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Written by: pitweston on May 2, 2010.

Whoever said “South Park” is bad for you was wrong. I was inspired by a recent episode I watched. The episode was from season 6. It was titled, “The Death Camp of Tolerance“.  According to Wikipedia (a very reliable source of information), the storyline is as followed:

In this episode, Mr. Garrison is promoted from his position as the kindergarten teacher to teach the fourth grade. He had been previously demoted for admitting to being gay. However, realizing that getting fired for being gay could allow him to sue the school for millions, he decides, along with his partner, Mr. Slave to perform outrageous sex acts in the classroom.

The children complain about Mr. Garrison’s inappropriate activities, but their parents mistakenly think they are complaining about his homosexuality. The parents believe that the children are being intolerant and send them to the Museum of Tolerance, where all sorts of gags occur, such as the children going on a ride through the “Tunnel of Prejudice”, where speakers project all sorts of slur words at them and waxworks of minorities in stereotypical poses. The tour guide lectures the children about how Cartman being fat is his own life choice, before a smoker is spotted outside the museum and the tour guide and the parents lay into him in the same way they attempted to teach the children not to do with minorities.

To read the rest of the article, click here.

It was a pretty good episode. I forgot how funny this show was. I never look to the show for deeper meaning or some sort of political statement, but at least this episode struck a creative cord and got me to write something.

You play hurtful games

And you call me names

Names that ring inside my ear.

And everyday

Those kids will say

Bastard, loser, fag or queer.

They push me down

upon the ground

With no chances to defend.

And on the floor

I say, “No more.”

Begging, pleading for it to end.

Now at home

I sit alone

With all my peers to blame.

I have no hope

But just this rope

To aid to end the shame.

I step outside

Of a world that died

As I stand up on the deck.

I make a noose

But not too loose

And wrap it around my neck.

A final cry

To leap and die

To end their words of hate.

For when I’m dead

From this world of dread

They know they made my fate.

Thank you all

For heeding the call

Of a life to end so young.

For when it’s time

You’ll pay the crime

Of the boy that you all hung.

Thanks for reading.

Kirk

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pitweston

I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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