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Sam Jun 16
Maybe for some

High school is a dream.

A dream of burning kisses behind closed doors and beautiful swishing prom dresses as they dance the night away.

For others, perhaps it's a daze from one hour to the next.

Every hour a new one filled with jokes and loud laughter in between bites of a sandwich.

For me?

For me, it's 6 AM mornings with purple, crescent-shaped bruises stamped under drooping eyes, crumpled paper half finished and shoved in a random folder.

It's skipping breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner because what's the point if I'll still feel empty?

It's googling homework answers because every hour blurs into each other, barely distinguished between each other by the hollow feeling that's accompanied with each bell, so why bother trying to pay attention?

It's a burning sadness followed by empty numbness because I failed the latest quiz or test, but knowing I couldn't bring myself to study even if I knew how.

For me, it's the fear that worms its way into my throat, settling heavy in my stomach as I realize one of my few friends isn't in today.

Did they not want to come in?

Are they sick?

Did they sleep in?

Did they give in to the pressure of school and **** themselves because there is no other way out of this hell?

D o  t h e y  r e a l i z e  h o w  m u c h  w o r k  t h e y ' r e  m i s s i n g ?

The stinging cuts on my ankle whisper that they shouldn't care.

I know otherwise.

High school is the pills that sit on my dresser, long forgotten and still rattling with every shift, reminding me that it could all stop.

But, they are wrong.

It never stops.

I know that every moment I spend in a hospital is another I could be spending on missed work.

I know that every meal I force into my stomach is another missed working opportunity.

But, I know what I say doesn't matter.

It won't matter.

It never does.

Unless it is typed in Times New Roman 12 pt. font.
Depressed ******* who i failing not only my parents but also school
Sam Jun 16
She could feel a grin grace her face,
smudging the painted flags that stained her dark cheeks

She laughed





As she gazed out at the people surrounding her
She couldn't help but think

This is the one night
The one night they could be themselves

The one night where they could hear the right name instead of the wrong pronouns.

Where they could hear loud and loving compliments rather than mumbled and acidic insults

Where they could dress and act how they wanted without the fear of rejection waiting right outside their bedroom door

The one night

Where they could see themselves in the mirror

And be PROUD of the person who smiles back
Happy ******* Pride *******!!!!
Sam Jun 16
Study Study Study
Grades Grades Grades
That's all that seems to matter anymore
Not our happiness
Not our safety
Not even our health
I look okay
Were you paying attention?
Do you even remember, Dad?
Do you remember asking me why I was crying
Do you remember how I couldn't answer?
Do you remember, grandma?
Do you remember when you found a knife in my room?
I was ten
Do you remember, Mother?
Do you remember that lost and glassy look in my eyes?
Do you remember when I was sick
And I told you I hadn't eaten nearly all week?
Do you remember what you said?
"At least you'll lose weight."
I was nine
Do you remember how distraught I was
When had I revealed my first failed class?
Do you remember the tears?
The yelling?
The slamming door?
Perhaps the cold dinner left in my seat?
Do you ever notice how
when I'm asked how I am
That I always pause
I pause and shrug
Because how would I know?
That wasn't on the study guide.
**** school but **** my family more
Sam Jun 16
As I look over my first year of high school,
all I can remember
is this
It throbs in my chest, robbing my lungs of air and causing my mind to slide in a downward spiral.

I remember the yelling.
I remember the panic.
I remember the sorrow coursing through my veins, inching between my bones until it filled every last inch of me.

I remember the cuts, most of all.

But I also remember my friends.

I remember Navleen.
I remember Eunice.
I remember Damien and Kylee
I remember Kayleigh and Humera.

I remember the jokes, the silly conversations, the laughter.

I remember the stupidity that is the teenager's mind.

It's one of our last shots at being kids.

We want to take it.


I may be depressed but i am also full of spite
Sam Jun 16
It's the color of her hair when I first meet her
The color of her cheeks when she laughs herself breathless
The color that beats harder in my chest when her similar shaded lips meet my own
The color of her dress on our first date
It's the color that stains my cheek after every evening with each other
The color of my dress when I walk down the aisle
The color I see when I look into her eyes and see our future painted out in front of us
It's also the color I see dripping from her words as a bottle of whiskey swings from her hand
Its the color that paints the skin under her drunken eyes
The color that glazes her eyes when she swings at me
Its the color that drips from my cheek and her ring
The color that paints my vision as I feel the words pour from my mouth like lava
The color that I hear when she slams the door
Its the color that drains away when she doesn't return
Im depressed and ***
Sam Jun 11
The girl laughed, rubbing red stained hands and arms off in the sink.
"Art Class, amirite?"
The boy sits with his friend group, empty tray in hand. They all tell jokes in between bites of food.
A girl pops in another pill, giving a small smile to her friend as she assured her she just had a headache.
A boy pulls out a roll of gauze from his backpack before handing a piece to the girl who burnt her finger.
"Just in case!" He reassured his friend before he rushed to the bathroom, backpack in hand.

Do we seem okay?

Look a little closer.

Do we really?
Look closer you maggots
Sam Jun 11
I can feel the exhaustion digging into my bones
Seeping through the joints and twisting through the cracks
I can feel it ooze between my cells and pour from eyes like tears
Slipping between my teeth and spilling out the sides
"What do you possibly have to be tired about? You're young! You have no reason to be tired!"
The adults' hiss, anger roiling off them like tidal waves
What could I be tired of?
Maybe it's the yelling that bounces around in my head at odd hours
Or the cuts that mar and burn my skin like brands
Or the annoyed sighs hissing between clicking teeth
Or the eye rolls that shoot to the ceiling like guns
Perhaps it's the reluctant acceptance
The kind that makes you feel guilty for even saying anything
Or it could be the numb melancholy of another failed test
The kind that keeps you awake at night with sadness rolling in your stomach
Maybe I'm just tired of waking up
and instantly wanting to go back to sleep
Perhaps I'm tired of the expectations
Of your wants trumping my own
Of your desires trumping my needs


Maybe it's just another sleepless night.
can i words right??

— The End —