He called me
Worthless, Useless, Weakling,
Iíd never amount to anything,
all I was good at was crying.
He called himself
Family Man, Community Pillar,
Church Leader and Scout Master;
so his ďmistakesĒ didnít matter.
He called me
Baby, Sissy, Pansy,
I was like a Girl and certainly
a Pathetic, Limp-wristed Disgrace,
said Iíd grow up a Hopeless Case.
They called themselves
He-Men and Jocks;
They said they must get off their rocks.
They were the ones who dished the crap;
I was the one who took the rap.
They called me
Faggot, Gay and Queer;
They played upon my deepest fear.
They made me feel like a Boy-Whore,
They treated me like that and more.
I called myself
a Wretched Mess,
a Worthless Victim Ė even less
than anyone could ever guess,
a Nothing, shattered under stress.
So now Iím called
Child of Abuse,
Walking Wounded, Work-in-Progress,
I know the truth exposed in cries,
once hidden under piles of lies.
And some day I
will re-name Me,
showing the Man I want to be.
Iíll have no more shame to lose;
Iíll bear only the Name I choose.
We are often troubled, but not crushed;
sometimes in doubt, but never in despair;
there are many enemies, but we are never without a friend;
and though badly hurt at times, we are not destroyed.
- Paul, II Cor 4:8-9