Sticks and stones may break my bones, but NAMES will still hurt me.
You are not the names those kids called you during recess on the playground.
You are not the words that spewed from others' mouths in attempt to bring you down.
You are not a defenseless victim doomed by the letters stuck swirling through your head.
You are not defined by the rhymes of names swimming through the air and ringing in your ears.
The mistakes you made are not permanent scars binding the wounds that crawl up your skin; your faults are what make you human.
You are strong and sharp, like a needle in a hay stack.
You are kind and beautiful, with the grace of a newborn butterfly.
Despite what they said, you are lovable; their words do not make up your chemical structure, or the blood coursing through your veins.
You are enough.
You have to believe that they were WRONG.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to actual people, places, incidents, or things is completely conincidental.