"Why can't you hear me?"
"Why can't you just listen?"

"Why can't you hear me and why can't you just listen?"

I can't listen because anxiety is stuck between the teeth in my mouth and can't you hear the depression ripping the wallpaper?

"No, I can't. You shouldn't be so silly and you should stop being a child."

I can not stop being a child when I was always told to never grow up because I wouldn't make it.

And you... were right. I won't make it. Depression will continue to be there to tell me no matter what I wear, I will be ugly.

Anxiety will always be there to tell me that my decision is wrong.
No, I shouldn't do that.
No, they don't like you.
No, they do not care.

Even though they will call themselves friends and family...

They will never listen to what depression as a hobby.
And they will never know how the anxiety will affect every action you make to the point where it tells you not to breathe any longer because the people near you will scatter away just like... everyone did.

Should I run?

Should I scream?

Should I tell - no. They'll think I'm crazy.

Should I mention - no. They won't believe me.

Should I - no. No. No I can't.

Maybe running is a good idea after all.

No. That'd be suspicious.

Should I tell mom? No. She's in prison.

Should I tell dad? No. He wouldn't care.

Should I just... just...
They tell me to calm down, don't stress out, don't tell them.

Don't. They'll. Don't. Please. No. No. No means nothing. Nothing is no. No is nothing. Tell him no. Tell her no. Tell them no. No.

It wouldn't make a difference.

He wouldn't change his mind. He wouldn't-  he just-  they keep cutting me off-  he won't leave me alone. No. No.

N- wh-  why don't you tell him, them. she, they, her, it, thing to go away?

They can't go away unless he does.

They-  you-  why-  just... nothing.

It means... nothing.

My eyes are the things that should let you know what is wrong when my tongue keeps clicking and popping yet no words can come.

POP
CLICK

I can not speak.
My eyes are just like my mouth when anxiety comes crawling in a few minutes after I have spoken to my ******.
My eyes burn and itch from irritation from attempting to scratch out the memories of my mother.
The times she has left me alone
The times she would always hit my sister
The times she would do anything to get her way
The times she has tried to apologize for but no.
NO.
NO.
NO.

CLICK

I can only speak in words that rhyme with depression because that is the only thing my mind can come to think of.
Depression speaks in words… but I can not.
My hands are like clocks which never stop and time just keeps going on and on forever until I see him.
Until I see the person that has caused me to flinch when touched.
The person that has caused me to have trust issues.
The person that has made loving someone hard.

POP
POP

Shaking means I am thinking about him and the things he has done
So I guess I must always be thinking about the torture he has put me through.

Why didn’t you try to run
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you
Why didn’t you simply fight back?”

Your definition of simply is like trying to tell pink from blue.
My definition of simply is like trying to smash two objects together but eventually break.

My words mean nothing because my eyes can’t speak
They can’t leave that memory
They can’t stop thinking
Think.
Think.
Think!
Think!

CLICK
CLICK
CLICK

“W­hy didn’t you just… fight back?”

Sometimes it’s best to keep the things we hold dear to us to ourselves.
Just so the shadows don’t try to take them away.

The shadows are things we call friends because they’ve always been there.
They’re also called foes because of what they do.  It’s a secret though.
They told me not to tell.

One’s name is Janis. She wants to leave but never can. Another’s name is John. He always screams as if he’s forced to never stop.

They told me not to tell.

“Always keep it to yourself because we’ll take it away.”

“Why do you scream?  Why can’t you ever just sleep?!”

They told me not to tell my secrets because they’ll be used against me.

My name is Callie. I’m only age 6.
My name is ___. I have — who are you again?
My n-name is A- Al- Alexa. I have a s- stu- st- stutter
My name is Kelly.  I’m a mystery never solved.

They told me not to tell the-… no!  I won’t… they told me not to tell.

The shadows are my friends and the words will not hurt.

They told me they would —

The voices are my friends.  The voices are my friends.  The panic is my comfort.  The panic is my comfort.  The story is perfect.  Your story is perfect.  Our story is perfect.  
They’ll never know who I killed.
They’ll never know how it feels.
They’ll never know the voices were always there.

They told me not to tell my secrets because they’ll be used against me…

… but they also told me they’d never let me go even though they promised.  I guess the voices were right - I should have never told…

Being born with an abusive family isn’t a fun experience to live through.
You can survive but barely.
It’s like maggots eating away at flesh.
The flesh is your heart.
Maggots are the words.
You can tell me you understand what it’s like.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me how it feels to be put down for being called fat.
Tell me how it feels to be put down for trying to be an influence!
Tell me.
How it feels.
To be put down for who I am by “family”!
You don’t know.

Expressing who I am keeps me calm and secure.
Expressing but then being judged for acting like myself is such a hard feeling to bare.
Tell me what it’s like to lose a friend that you told all your secrets to.
Tell me what it’s like for you to come home to a drunken father.
Tell me what it’s like to come home crying because the kids on the bus made of you for having daddy problems.
Tell me what it’s like to endure physical pain from the inside out.
Tell me what it’s like to come home to your brothers telling you... “Dad’s in the hospital.”
You... do not know.

Depression with anxiety, hurt, and vicious pain are like a mixture of a freshly opened wound and salt.
It stings away at you until you’re no more.
Until you believe that you are worthless.
Until you believe that you can’t go on any further!

Is it right for someone to be discriminated for their color?
Is it right to stand by and listen to **** and suicidal jokes?
I’ve done it.
I’ve stood by because I was too afraid of what they would say to me.
How they would react.
What tiny little things they would use against me.
How does it feel to know how I feel now?
What will you do to me?
Hurt me?
It’s far too late for that.

You didn’t know…
That I have been through so much even though I smile.
That I take everything I have to say and bottle it up inside.
That I have tried to tell you but you just don't understand!

You don’t know what it feels like to be buried in a casket of darkness and fear.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me!
Tell me how it feels when others insult you.
Tell me.
Explain it to me!
Explain what it feels like to be but down for every little minor thing about you!
You… do not … know.

You want me to believe that this world is complete, delicate, special.
But how can I believe such a thing when nothing is being done to the children and adults who get abused and neglected?
How can I believe that this world is protective when the police system did nothing about a **** situation of a 6 year old girl?
How can I believe that this world is complete when we can't even be different without being judged?
How can I believe that this world is special when there's still so much wrong with it?
How can we see the world as such a thankful life when we can't even go out on the front porch to play without someone shooting accusations at our mind; making us think this world is perfect when in a real reality... it's not.

There's still poverty and blood shed of innocent victims because we pick the wrong people to "protect" us.
There's still so much to learn even if we can't see what the future may hold.

Ask me...
Ask me how my life is.
What has happened in my life?
So many things I wish I forget.

There's the alcoholic father:
The one who lets his daughter sip his beer to get "enjoyment".

There's the missing mother:
The one who never fought for her daughter and never looked for her.

Then there's the sister:
The one that would make people happy; was always a joy to be around but everything changed when she was gone.

At age 4 there was a little girl who wanted everything: a happy family, a fun life, protective brothers but that girl got the complete opposite.
Age 5:
Age 6: *****
Age 7, age 8, age 9
Age 10: Depression
11: Depression
12: Anxiety and depression
13: Anxiety and courage
14: Panic
15: Depression, anxiety, panic
16...

Age 13 was the year the girl finally told her sister-in-law about the **** her brother did. Only 3 people believed her.
Not her father, not her father's girlfriend, not her 3 brothers, not the police.
She was alone.
She tore and ripped through her anxiety like it was nothing to achieve absolutely... nothing.

There's a woman trying to get a boy into her car while he screams, "You can't make me!"
There's a man forcing a woman to have *** after 3 times that morning and she says, "You can't make me!"
There's a little girl being abused by her father when he said, "**** yourself."

That girl slipped through his hands and past his heart while the knife hit hers, and she whispered her last words to the alcohol running along her father's lips and the cheek he pressed against hers while he forced things upon her all done by laying in the hospital bed whenever she had come to see him. She silently took her last breathe with the words, "Daddy, you made me do this."

They told me to write an essay on how I see the world... as if my opinion actually matters.

They told me to write an essay on my life... as if they would ever know my pain.

They told me to write.

That's it.

They told me to let it flow... as if expressing could ever heal.

They told me to let it go... as if my past was one I could chose to forget.

Like the time... yea.
Like this time.

He told me he loved me... like the alcohol in his dreams.

He told me to pay attention... as if my mind could ever focus.

He told me to clean my room... as if my memory could erase the hurt he caused.

He told me to shut up as I cried in pain after my mother was beaten.

He told me to let it go as if my witness of **** was never even there.

That's it.

~
She told me she would help me... but where is she now?

My mother is gone.
My mother is...

My father will never believe.
My father will never be.
~

They told me to write an essay of how I see the world.

They told me not to let my past interfere and to never let my emotions get the best of me.

How should I do that?
I don't remember.
Am I supposed to?

He told me to clean my room... as if my memory could erase the hurt he caused.

They told me...

Music is the savior I choose to praise
It has helped me understand others feelings
Instead of the feeling of being trapped in a maze.

It’s told as the words spoken by those who don’t know their voice
Once you release your anger, you’re at rejoice.
It’s just something you must have patience for. To sit down and write.
It’s your choice. . .
You can either choose to write down your thoughts and feelings
To save lives
Or make money and have others die.

If music wasn’t here
I wouldn’t be either.
You need to actually listen to them from your ears.

Think of what the artists are trying to speak
Is it through poetry, or just through honesty?
Don’t call them a freak
When you don’t even listen to what they have to say.

Maybe they have something good to say,
Or just trying to help a child get through the hellish day.

Music is the savior I choose to praise
It has helped me understand others feelings
Instead of feeling like I’m trapped in an endless maze.

I overheard a conversation between two friends at school today.
One was saying how she was too fat for her own liking.
The other said she secretly takes her mother's pills and puts them in her drinks to lose weight.

Look.
Taking pills isn’t a good way to lose weight.
Especially if you’re stealing them from your parents.
That’s just completely idiotic.

It’s also idiotic that the first girl said she was “too fat”.
People today, especially women, think they have to be top notch for a person to like them.
I know you’ll hate to hear this but, you don’t!
You don’t want to be like the models who purposely make themselves sick.
You don’t want to be a person who always lets themselves down.
You don’t want to be that person who rarely eats then have a chance at death…
Just because you’re “too fat”.

It’s ridiculous that people have to be just the right size to have somebody love them.
Or because others can’t see your ribs means you’re not skinny enough.

Be happy with who you are.
Why should you let somebody ruin your life with lies?
The lies that tell you, “Oh! You’re too fat.”
Or my favorite, “You should go get sick to make yourself skinnier. It’ll help.”
Please don’t be that person that let’s lies ruin you.

I’m telling you what I think.
I’m letting you know my opinion.
I want every single girl, women, man, boy, or child in general to tell themselves -- right now…

“I’m beautiful even if others think I’m fat.”
“I will never take diet pills to lose weight just to impress people.”
“I will never encourage others to get sick to lose weight.”
“I will never, ever forget to tell myself that I’m beautiful just how my body is…”

Why do I do the things I choose?
I try to make things better,
But all I do leaves one more bruise.

Why do I keep these words inside?
All they do is want to hide
I should leave this world
We all know where’d I go
I told you to not grieve
I should have told you sooner
But now…
It’ll be all over.

I shall only be gone for a second
Then you’ll feel me with you
looking down at our old world’s view.

It’s time for me to go now.
I hope this world changes soon...

There was a girl named Jamie.
She was the one to sit in the back of the class
She even had a crush on a girl named Amy.
She never had the courage to tell her her feelings.
Never even got to show her love
Just because of her depression.
She thought about killing herself, but then she thinks of Amy
As simply she whispers to herself,
“It’ll be okay.”


She wanted to do something before the world ends
So, she finally had the guts to tell her, “I Love You.”
She went to see her one last time to tell her those few words, right before she flew away.
She went to call her that very day.
But, worry struck her after 8 unanswered voicemails
She went to her home only to find out
Amy committed suicide with a note in her hand
Reading, “I didn’t want you to find out.”


She was suffering through the loss of the girl that could have been
The girl that could have saved her life
By just admitting to herself, “She could of been my wife.”



Amy had a secret crush
But, she never told her friends that every time she was around,
She’d just blush.
So, nobody ever found out that Amy liked Jamie.
But, she never had the time with her work and chores at home to even express. . .
To even express her feelings toward Jamie.

One day, Jamie stopped her in the hall, and tried to talk to her.
But, you see?
Even though Amy was equally liked
She was too scared to tell her the news of a soon death
She walks away to the restroom as she sits there screaming out to herself:



“I only have 2 weeks to live.
The cancer has almost spread to my brain.
Do you see what has happened?
I can’t control myself again.
I might as well die now.”

She then whispers to herself,
“It’ll be okay. One day.”

She's in the hospital for suicide watch because we couldn't help her.
We keep telling ourselves she'll be okay and not to worry about her.
Is she okay?
                No
Yes she is.

I've seen what the urge can do to someone.
I've seen bow bad it can be to their minds.
Is she okay?
                She'll die
Yes she is.

I know how bad it can hit you.
You feel like everything is falling apart because of you.
Even when it's not.

Your parents take some fault.
Just because you're their child doesn't mean they care.
Especially when they blatantly show it.

                Thinking you should go die.
                Thinking you're worthless.
                Thinking you want the attention

Are you okay?
                She's going to--
No...
Ye- Yes you are.

We're worried for you
We're worried you won't make it through society.
You continued to lie to us so we wouldn't worry.
We're always going to worry about you.
No matter if you don't want us to.

You'll be okay
                I won't

You'll b- be okay.
                I won't

You will be okay.
                I will not.

You can't leave.
You will not leave us.

Please be honest and tell us how you feel.
Don't make us feel worthless because we never helped because you said you "were fine".

You taught me to stand up for I think it right.
I’d tell you what I think is right
But it’ll only turns to a competitive fight.

You taught me to go for my dreams
Then you beat me down
With your hateful beams.

You taught me to tell you what’s on my mind
I told you I’m gay
But you’re only world blind.

I taught you to not judge
But maybe you thought it was right.

I taught you to be respectful
Maybe you thought I was joking
But when your daughter tells you to stop,
Stop.
Before she takes a break from society
Ending it all because of social anxiety.

The first thing I hear is yelling
Only trying the best to ignore,
When you’ve told me I’ve been a selfish *****.

You expect me to act as you want,
But why would I obey
When I could simply make you go away?

All I would do is take a knife;
And it would make the pain go away.
If you’d just let me rest for 1 whole day.

Didn’t you see what you caused?
With the many lives lost?

The ignorance taught;
Wars fought;
With the selfish acts;
Of being prejudice of gays and blacks;

You ‘can’t control yourself’ is what you say,
But you had learned when the child was lying there dead;
As night is to day.

At least they’re at a better place now
You see?
Maybe not in heaven, but any place is better
Than this place called society.

Age 12;
The first to say, “Stop!”
Yet the last helped.
Living life protected but now betrayed;
Touched with impurity and hate
All the joy too late
All acts of defiance
Through deep breaths of silence.


Age 20;
Tried for treason;
With no factual reason.
The first to defend
Yet last to protect.
Innocence is lost
Guilt is put.
Put into prison;
Missing the funeral of the wife,
The ending of an innocent life.


Age 25;
The rush too hard to handle;
The pills of a gamble.
Taking another shot
As if not already taught.


37;
Laugh of joy
Cries of pain
Those being told
They’re loved
But leaving a heartless stain
43;
The dizziness hits
Through the alcohol of memories
Of the wife once murdered


48;
Thinking too much
With all too much to touch
Kids are now gone
Wife was murdered
Wondering if life should be drawn


50;
With no wife and kids,
Life living alone
With the thoughts of loneliness.
The life stops;
And time goes timeless
Through the deep breaths of innocent silence.

Look through a child’s eye and you’ll see their despair
Then look through another and you’ll feel a run down tear.

Take 5 minutes of your time to think of how your life is;
Compared to the eyes of knowing how desperate change is.

Eyes show more than people say
They only lie to keep their pain away.
Instead of thinking of how better your life can be
Think of how some cringe to flee.

Most believe me when I tell them everyone hides
When they commit a domestic homicide, but;
It’s most surprising that most don’t believe me
When I tell them the kid who just ran out went to commit suicide
Then they have the guts to tell me,
“Leave it aside.”

The next day comes,
Only to find out that the kid who ran out?
He was found on the bathroom floor, dead.
Without a doubt.

If only a person was to show how they felt
By giving him some loving affection,
Instead of forcing him to reject his bipolar depression.

If only you would have looked through that child’s eyes;
You would’ve saw their despair
Then if you looked through another, you would have felt their suicidal tears.

Age 3.
She was a innocent little girl
Her father took her away from her mother...
Without even letting her say, “goodbye.”

Now, living with her drunken father
Developing through the stages of which she chooses
Having the choices every kid would love

But, for her they weren't choices
They were demands.
She was told to drink.
She was told to pass out.
She was told to stand.
She was told to listen.
Be smart!
Clean this room!
You must obey me!
Learn to think!
She was told to act just like her father.

She had no choice.
The little girl wanted to make a better life for her father.

Age 5.
Always wanting to make a difference,
But couldn’t do the things she wanted with that little voice she had

She goes to school…
Gets the education she’s told to learn.
Accepting how life comes to her.
Goes home…
Gets drunk...
Passes out.
Repeat.

They moved across from the police station.
This girl's life wasn’t well.
Her life began to go downhill...
When her wanted brother moved in.
Her father left to help them live their life
Get their groceries,
Pay the bills.
Although her father stopped the alcohol,
Her brother didn’t help.
The brother that chose to **** his only sister!

Too traumatized, and frightened to run…
She kept the event to herself for 7 years… too frightened to be touched.

Age 12.
In school again.
She loves education, but wants to make it better for other children.
Teaching things that will help in everyday life.
Not learning these long equations we wouldn’t use.
She would love to graduate and make her father proud.
He’s never proud though…

Although she’s gotten through the bullying and the embarrassing class speeches…
Being diagnosed with Bipolar Depression, and MPD didn’t help.
She was judged for being insecure of others.
She was beaten for the choices she chose.
She was tortured for trying to make a difference.

Age 14.
She was scarred through what her eyes have seen
Although they may have deceived
She understood others and their pain.

She told her loving step-sister about the event years ago.
It came as a surprise when she could relate from her daughter’s perspective as well.
She went to the police station and discussed the situation.
The police told the ignorant child to go home with her father.
They had done nothing.
Nothing for the child that had the courage to tell others.
Had the courage to speak up.
Had the thought others would believe her.
But, no.
Nobody. Believed her.

Age 16.
Growing up for High School.
Still suffering through her father, and now “step-mother”.
They call her their step-mother because. . . the little one never really had a mom.
She had searched and searched
But, nothing ever came to her.
Was she alive, or dead?
She had thoughts about her father and how it would make him feel if she ran away...
Would he care for her?
Would he call the police?
Would he even realize?

Looking at others, listening to others
Listening to their story.
She became friends with one…
Putting the blame on herself because she couldn’t save him.
She could have saved him.
She would have saved him.
Why didn’t she?!

. . . . .

I always came to questions of:
Does he love my mom?
Had he looked for her?
Did he hit my mom, or was I just dreaming?
Will I ever find her?
Is she dead?!

I - I don’t know.
Maybe.
I hope I will find her.
I have always felt a hatred for my father because of it…
I want life to be better.
Please…
Be. Better.

. . .

This…
Is my story.

A school is refusing to help children.
Suicidal ones.
Her parents told her, “You’re cutting for attention.”
She told us, “Maybe if I was gone, they would know it’s not.”

Those parents are the most pathetic people I’ve ever known.
You can’t just tell your child that they’re depressed just because “they want attention.”
You’re the ones supposed to be caring.
She is your child.

People nowadays don’t stop to realize that people are hurting.
That people are suffering.
Maybe more than others, but they’re still suffering!

We’re always told that parents are the ones supposed to be there for us.
How about the fathers who turn into magicians and disappear?
Or how about the mothers who sell their child as a ******* for drug money?
Or the other fathers who are always too drunk to remember their child’s name?
Or the other mothers who beat their children physically and emotionally?

They tell her, “If your parents aren’t there then go to your brothers and sisters.”
Okay. How about the brothers who **** their sisters?
Or the sisters who grow up to be strippers, and a drug addict than have a miscarriage?

Parent’s are the ones supposed to look after their children.
Don’t let your child commit suicide because you weren’t ever there to help her!
Because you were too pathetic to think of your own daughter’s feelings!

Please don’t regret not being there for her.
Please help her through the life she has...

We all have are ups and down
But there  will eventually be a day
Where we break those frowns, and turn it around.

Do you know what  can cure your bad day?
It’s pretty simple... spending time with your family, or friends.

Did you see your dreams come alive?
I bet it did. You have your wife.
25 years and going,
With the kids and wife of your dreams.

You’ve always been happy, and act as you were taught
I may not know your back story
So, there may be wars you once fought. . .

But, you know what?
We’ve seen you live through them, and you’re still here today
Thankfully, you’ll be here to stay.

I bet you have great kids, and wife
Because they’ve been living with you
Through this joyous life.

You tell me you haven’t hurt me
You told me you didn’t do nothing wrong
So, keeping me away from my mother since I was 4;
Never trusting me;
Never believing what I say;
Keeping me locked up…
All that was nothing to you?...

I guess so.

...Pathetic.

You think me being unhappy is a fun way to please you

Maybe listening to me, thinking about my feelings would help me out.

Maybe becoming your “girlfriend’s slave” wasn’t a good way to do that.

Do you understa --

NO.
      No.
           no…

Of course you don’t.
You never have.
Think, dad.
Think!

I’m at school, and my best friend just told me she loved me.

Do you love me?
You see my expression when you say those words, and my reply is…

Nothing. It’s nothing!

How do I know you do?
You could just be lying to me.

Just… start thinking about what you’re going to say, and the things you do that affect your only daughter!

Just… think...

I read my poems to you and you got mad.
Why?
Do you not like the truth?
It’s just my life as youth.

Maybe you know how I feel just you don’t want to agree, only want to deny.
Why?
The truth was only a sliver told.
The rest should naturally unfold.

Did you not like what I said about you and mommy?
Why?
You didn’t tell her you loved her. Right?
Your madness was just your hidden fright.

How about my story of neglect? You like when inside I cry.
Why?
Do you love me?
Mommy would tell me she loved me. Right?

Bubby read my poem. He felt what I felt.
Why?
Because he cares for me.
Please, listen to me.

You always wonder why I don’t tell you what I feel.
Don’t ask why, Daddy. I will freely answer:

Your lack of understanding;       {I’m mature and responsible}

Your forceful demanding;               {I won’t tell you.}

Your pessimist girlfriend;                               {Why does she do that?}

Your prejudice and judgements;     {I’m pansexual...}

You don’t know me, Daddy.       *{Leave me alone!}

I try to make you happy
But, I only disappoint
I try, but inside I die
The only thing I do is cry

I love you, Daddy

Please don’t hit me
I hurt everywhere
It hurts where you burned me
But, you don’t care...
Do you?

I love you, Daddy

Mommy is gone
Will you ever tell me why?
I wanted to die
Didn’t you know?
Will you ever reply?

I love you, Daddy

Guess what, Daddy?
I’m 19 now
I’m proud of who I became.
Are you?
I miss mommy.
Will I ever see her again?

I’m scared, Daddy

Why did you take me away from her?
Is she dead?
You never told her you loved her.
Did you?
You don’t care though
Do you?

*I hate you, Daddy.

So many contradict themselves from the bad to the good
Yesterday, I was in class...
Just like a normal day.
But, ya... see…

I find it ridiculous, and senseless that students bully other students.
They try to act tough to make up for their immaturity.
Teachers act tough to make up for their impurities.

Yesterday,  I was in class…
There’s a kid suffering through a brain disorder
Than gets bullied for it!
The thing about it was the teachers, or students did nothing about it.
I guess people don’t care for a human life.

I went up to the teacher’s desk and asked if I was able to speak to her in the hallway.
A normal conversation, ya know?
She asked me why I couldn’t speak to her there.
Well, okay.
I waited. . . and waited, then I said it.
“They’re picking on Anthony again.”

Then…
She had the courage to say to me, “I told him to sit down. He’s fine.”
******* he is.
Do you see what that kid goes through every ******* day?!
No!
You don’t.
Because you don’t. Pay. Attention.
. . . .

I went back to my desk and sat down next to my dearest friend, Kaci.
I kept looking at her, back at Anthony, back to her, back to Anthony.
Then… 1 of the kids bullying him came up to him and tried breaking his stuff.
His laptop, his pencils.
Like, excuse me!
Who the **** do you think you are?!


I was fed up with it so I said, “Leave him alone.”
The kid told me, “I didn’t do anything.”
I wanted to say *******, but we needed to leave for class.
Well, for lunch.
I ran out of the class and into the restroom.
Kaci came in with me and hugged me so much, and I couldn’t help but cry.
It would be my fault if that child died.
I couldn’t stop them.
I couldn’t help him.

The thing that really ****** me off was the teacher looked up before I yelled, and saw him getting bullied.
Okay. Hold on.
At this point, this should be over with.
But, no.
She looked at her ******* phone and continued to do what she was doing.
She did nothing!

They try teaching us to stop bullying. How about we teach you some things about helping the victim instead of becoming the person to have a child murdered.

. . .

Who new society could be so ****** up?

You try to break us down
You try to make us hurt

We are just like you.
We all have a heart, brain, nerves, feelings…
We smile just like you.
We laugh just like you have before…
… And we hurt
And we cry
So, why treat us wrongly?

I don’t want everyone to be equal because that’d be wrong.
I don’t want people to be just like each other. That’d be boring.

I want everyone to have understanding.
I want everyone to look.
To look at others, and realize that people are hurt, and suffering.
That there are people out there who get abused, and neglected.

Do you get abused?...
How about neglected?

You have a better life than others, so you take what you have granted.
Don’t you?
Why?!

Because… you think you’re so much better just because you have a car!
You have money.
You have a roof over your head.
You have a family!

If you assume you’re so much better than why do you hurt too?
Maybe one of these days you will realize there are people who are different.

And I swear --
I swear on my life for those who don’t think to realize you aren’t better;
And so it gives you the right to treat others with disrespect, dishonesty, and be calloused toward them?

No. It doesn’t… It shouldn’t.
I want people to learn from their mistakes.
Learn that people… are… different.

Being born with an abusive family isn’t a fun experience to live through.
You can survive but barely.
It’s like maggots eating away at flesh.
The flesh is your heart.
Maggots are the words.

You can tell me you understand what it’s like.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me how it feels to be put down for being called fat.
Tell me how it feels to be put down for trying to be an influence!
Tell me! How it feels! To be put down for who I am by “family”!
You don’t know.



Expressing who I am keeps me calm and makes me feel protected.
Expressing but then being judged for acting like myself is such a hard feeling to bare.

Tell me what it’s like to lose a friend that you told all your secrets to.
Tell me what it’s like for you to come home to a drunken father.
Tell me what it’s like to come home crying because the kids on the bus made of you for having daddy problems.
Tell me what it’s like to endure physical pain from the inside out.
Tell me what it’s like to come home to your brother telling you, “Dad’s in the hospital.”
You... do not know.



Depression with anxiety, and hurt, and vicious pain are like a mixture of a freshly opened wound and salt.
It stings away at you until you’re no more.
Until you believe that you are worthless.
Until you believe that you can’t go on any further!




Is it right for someone to be discriminated for their color?
Is it right to stand by and listen to **** and suicidal jokes?
I’ve done it.
I’ve stood by because I was too afraid of what they would say to me.
How they would react.
What tiny little things they would use against me.

How does it feel to know how I feel now?
What will you do to me?
Hurt me?
It’s far too late for that.


You didn’t know…
That I have cried myself to sleep.
That I previously used my depression for attention.
I know it was wrong.
It was wrong in so many ways.

I’ve changed so much.
I’ve figured out how to control my actions.
I’ve figured out how to bare through it.
I’ve figured out how to cover the thing called darkness up.

You think I wanted the attention?
No. You’re wrong!
I did it because of neglect.
I don’t want attention!


You don’t know what it feels like to be buried in a casket of darkness and fear.
Do you?
You do?
Tell me!
Tell me how it feels when others insult you.
Tell me… explain it to me!
Explain what it feels like to be but down for every little minor thing about you!
You… do not… know.

Those who wander without a noise
Playing with their old kid toys;
Remembering the fun times they had
While dreaming of their deadbeat dad.

But little did they know, he wasn’t perfect
for him to be born with a mental defect.
They expected him to happy
Always wandering with joy;
He just couldn’t stop playing with that little kid toy.

He did best to hide
But his chances were too wide
One night, it all got to his head
When he pulled the trigger next to his bed.

Luckly,
It was all just a dream
Waking up to their horrible screams.
They rush to at their fathers stay
While telling them, “It’ll all be okay”.

The father takes his gun
Handing it to his son
Preparing to eject;
And not even trying to protect.

Their dad’s defect
Must have got to their head
When the kids pulled the trigger;
And dropped dead.

As they come to a wake;
Seeing their father laying in bed
Sleeping in a quiet position;
But actually is dead.

Coming to realize,
Their father was always in joy
Stuck playing with that little kid toy.

People don’t stop to think about the things they have.
The things they should be grateful for.
The things the homeless should have.

Speaking of the homeless, I was told ALL homeless people
No. Not just some.
ALL homeless people are drug addicts.
Are they?

I wouldn’t know.
I’m not homeless.
Neither were you. You have no right in saying that!
You don’t know that person’s life. You know NOTHING about them!

“We’re running out of food.” one said
“We’re running out of love!...” another said.
“We’re running out of time!...” another wished to say.

He wrote it to me. He wrote what he wanted to say.
He couldn’t speak because he was mute.
Did you know that? Did you know he was mute?
Would you feel pity if you did know?
Would you feel regret if you knew?

I was in a dream…
I was walking, talking
Talking to who?
Him.
The person mute.

He was talking!
I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.
I felt no emotion.
I came across somebody else who was blind.
Another with a disorder.
One after another.
All aligned within the walkway.



They begged for me to help them.
They begged for forgiveness.
They begged and begged.
All wanting something they didn’t get.


I felt nothing.
No hurt.
No guilt.
No pity.
NOTHING.

I woke up and realized... it was you.
The one who was ungrateful for what they had.
You said they were addicts.
You said they didn’t deserve anything.
You said they couldn’t be happy.

Each of us has a bad mind.
Each of us has a bad side.

That person who was you;
That person who never thought;
Who never had feeling;
That is what we call the thing hidden within our shadows
The thing we must have to live…

Life.