I walk the halls, a place of learning, they say,
But shadows lurk, and whispers echo, a different tale each day.
I am just a kid, with dreams and hopes, like any other.
Yet today, I find myself a target, a pawn.

I remember the first time I saw him,
that kid with fists like iron, words like glass—
both sharp and fragile, quick to break,
but sharpest when hurled at the weak.
The hallway stretched out like an endless sea,
and he was the bully who ruled,
a ruffian with a laugh too big for his body,
like jostling thunder over our head.

Why must there be this imbalance, this torment in our midst?
A tyrant roams these halls, feeding on fear, sowing seeds of rage.
He struts with false security, a bribe of power in his hand,
While I, the bystander, watch,
feeling helpless, dwarfed and feeling small.
He finds joy in our discomfort, in the tears that we fight.
Is it strength he seeks, or is it his own weakness he hides?
A mask of bravado, a shield for the insecurities inside.

The playground, once a haven, now a battlefield of sorts,
Where laughter turns to silence, and joy to anxious thoughts.
I wonder, does he know the pain, the scars he leaves behind?
Or is he lost in his own torment, a prisoner of his mind?

I see the faces of us, the fear we try to mask,
And I ask myself, why must we endure this daily task?
Is there no end to this cycle, no light to pierce the dark?
Or must we wait in silence, for a hero to leave his mark?
I couldn’t help but ask:
Is it worse to be the fist or the one who stands still?

Every time, I chose stillness.
I chose quiet,
even though my gut twisted like ropes pulled too tight,
like something was tearing apart inside me.
I watched as the days turned into weeks,
and that tyrant roamed the halls like a king,
while the rest of us learned to hide,
to dodge his path like raindrops in a storm.

Do we carry the weight of those taunts forever,
like heavy stones in our pockets,
sinking us deeper into ourselves ?
Or do we rise, somehow stronger,
outgrowing the wounds that once marked them?
I never found out.

And me?
I’m still here,
still strolling the halls in my memory,
wondering if silence is its own kind of bribe—
a way to keep the peace,
to avoid being shred apiece.

But perhaps the hero lies within, in each and every one,
In the courage to stand up, to say, “Enough!”
For in unity, there is strength.
In numbers, we find might,
And together, we can turn the tide, and bring back the light.
For though the tyrant may roar, and the shadows may loom,
We are the dawn, the rising sun, dispelling all the gloom.

Ironically, each of Bully, Bystander and Burden,
starts with the same letter.
Earnestly, each of the three,
begins with the same complex emotion – instinct.