Unhappy children T
he freaks, the losers, the ones left behind
Middle benchers, translucent to
The eyes of expectations
They turn into drops
Of precipitation, a sheen over teachers lips
As she spits out numbers, single digits
Forever branding
A writer, a dog whisperer, an athlete
Unhappy children
Societal failures, miscarried foetuses of
Hopes and dreams
Oppositional defiant disorder fakers
Teacher, you stand where once stood their
Angry fathers
Detached, they
Fall like pieces of shredded paper
Unhappy children
A frostbitten finger
Amputate gently
Expect the expected
A punch, a slap
‘Mother, why won't you love me?
Or do you love me too much?’
Unhappy children
People pleasers, bootlickers
Quietly harbouring
A brain on the brink of nuclear meltdown
Collapsing in on itself
Powdered, roasted, French pressed
Liquefied bitterness, watch them blow
All the unhappy children, let's take a bow.
Etti Kotnala is an Occupational Therapist currently working at a child and adolescent mental health clinic. Also a freelance writer, she often finds herself gravitating towards giving a voice to children, however small it may be.