A Word I Hate

I hate the word "retarded;"
It’s uttered with contempt
By those who wrongly think
From lack of brains they are exempt.

It’s never spoken kindly
Either as a joke or curse
Or merely a descriptive,
Which to me is even worse.

The same applies to “retard.”
By making it a noun,
It’s venomously aimed and used
To put somebody down.

We can’t help what we’re born with,
Be it size or hair or brain;
But we control the language
That can cause somebody pain.

When I hear that word bandied,
All my blood starts boiling, but
I realize it’s a losing cause
And keep my big mouth shut.