...... but
they
          dont
know
                      me

YET ......

when a smart kid cheats
you can tell.
not because the perfect score
or the eraser marks all over the paper.
but by the look on their face
and the pain in their head
and the sweat on their palms.

it's not as easy as you'd think
to scribble down a cheat sheet
or write on your skin
or look at someone's paper.

someone's always smarter.
someone's always better.

it's not the grade that makes me do it,
i swear.
it's my rank in the class
and the letters i'm not getting from that college.

it's the counselor telling me
that i'm a bright girl
but really, i swear
i'm not.

this is not 'academic dishonesty'
this is me telling you
i cannot take the pressure

i did not earn my 4.0

You'd forget me even before I die
But that's okay
At least at my wake you won't cry
If you ever find out about it
That is

I'll be "That Girl I Once Knew" to you
And that's just fine
Though I wish I had the chance to call you mine
Before I died

You once mirrored my happiness
But that ended soon enough
It's alright that I'm dead
Life's been rough

I hope you live a long happy life
You deserve one
Don't ever think of me again
Not even just once

Her once beautiful
brown skin
is now only
captivating the
negativity ruining
her limited life

Each moment
is once again
shadowed by a
Nightmare
We ever so
Happily label truth

Never would she claim
such a place
rewarding our evilness
with money
to further enhance
our mistakes

This is why
She cant bear
to withstand
a creature so bruised
with cuts and pain
that once was so beautiful

Why would you ask me,
If I was okay with you leaving?
You know it kills me,
That you were laughing.

And I wish you would know that
I know how you feel.
How I know what you've been through.
And how I've been through it
Too.
Because then we might talk,
Shattering unscratched glass with the first sentence,
"What did you get for Number Seven?"
You would say, "Negative eleven, just factor..."
Maybe one day you'd text me and
Ask what the homework was
Because our teacher didn't tell you
From when you were sick.
And eventually, after tons of small talk,
After "How's the weather?"
Got old,
I could finally tell you
That I know.
I'd tell you that
I'm here, not the fake kind of here,
Which sounds like,
"I-know-and-I'm-here-and-you-can-talk-to-me-goodbye-forever­."
Not like that.
But the kind of here
That asks what ****** about your day,
And sends you links to cat videos,
And the kind of here
That texts you at two in the morning
And asks if you're alright
And doesn't take yes for an answer.