" why do you wear all those badges? "
My brother frowns at me.
" they'll take away all the colour on your hoodie. "

" I like them. " I reply bluntly.

' BUT THEY ARE COLOURFUL! AND I LOVE THEM! '
I want to yell.
But I hide my rage with a sigh

" you really should join the play!
You'd be amazing! "
My mother says.

" b-but I don't want to..."
I mumble and look down

" but you should! What about the plays you did as a child? "
My mother glares.

' BECAUSE OF ALL THE PEOPLE
ALL THE LINES
I CAN'T DO IT
I DON'T WANT TO BE THERE! '
I want to yell.
But I hide my rage with a shrug.

" you look like a *****. "
My father glares at my blue clothes
" you look like a mess. "

' I'M SORRY
BUT I CAN'T SEE IN THE DARK
YOU NEVER GAVE A BULB '
I want to glare.
But I hide my rage with silence.

" brush your hair! "

' I ALREADY HAVE! '

" clean your teeth! "

' I'VE DONE SO ! '

" have your hair loose! "

' I LIKE IT THAT WAY! '

" do that, do this! "

" your grades are failing! "

" get your act together! "

Can't they see they are the cause?
Can't they I'm sad.
I'm crying in my room.
I write sad songs and poems
In my room alone.
Alone.
Without them.
Without criticism.

I want to scream.
Shout or yell at them.
They always moan at me.
Only my friends understand
Like good friends do.
They don't.
I want to let out everything
Tell them how insecure I feel.

But I hide my rage
My sadness
My hatred for pity
My feeling of being an outcast
I hide it all with a fake smile.

" hello? "

I ask as I open the black door.

Silence greets me kindly
Letting me in so gentlemanly.

School bag off.
Get a snack.
School back on.

I march the stairs
Sounding like an xylophone
Creaking away as I charge
I reach the top.
My bedroom door is shut
Locking my art and poems away
Never to be heard or seen
By family or friends
But strangers on the media

I open the door.
My sofa has a blanket of clothes
My floor covered with magazines
To be destroyed and cut up
Into a more stranger yet beautiful
Type of art, a collage of photos
Of famous people and models
Taken by famous photographers
Who's names are unknown to me.
Maybe I'll join the list someday
But who knows?

I slip off my socks and shoes
Rip off my prison uniform
Sorry, meant school
But it's a prison to me in my mind

I armour myself with band shirts
A pair of tie-dye shorts
And I'm barefoot
So I feel like I'm walking on grass

I take my snack, a scone
A cup of tea
A packet of crisps*
And settle down onto my bed

My bed isn't like your bed
It's a bunk bed
No one sleeps on top
My brother used to
But he left me be
And I use its banister
As a railing for my own curtain
To hide my own bed
Hide away my emotions
Hide me and cover me
As I sleep

Silence greets me again
It rests upon me as I start to write
My poems and stories

No one to bother me
No one to hurt me
No one to pressure me
No one to get me down

The only sound is
My grandmother's TV
Did I mention she lives with me?
Don't worry, she loves me
She wouldn't tell a secret
Like I don't tell hers

The sound of my breathing
The sounds from my phone
Blasting music through my room
The sounds of the wind
A nearby train
Cars passing by

The peace is shattered
So I wave it goodbye
The front door cracks open

" hello? "

My mother calls.

" are you ok? "

" I'm fine! "

I reply with a fake smile
Even though she can't see
My frown of disappointment

I needed to be alone more

One moment mother was at my left
One moment father was at my right
The next moment they were gone
Simply lost in the crowd
All at once chaos struck
Like lightning on the ground
Sticks and stones were thrown around
With words of hate hurling everywhere
I ran foreward, my movements swift
My heart racing and pounding
My hands were numb, my head was spinning
I ran on as the fight broke out
No one cared, no one saw
They were focused on war and conflict
They didn't care for a single sad child
Who was lost in the crowd
No one to help him
No one to save him
No one to find him in the crowd

" don't tell anyone. " she whispered and clung to my hand.

" I would never. " I responded and sealed the deal.

She came to school seven days ago with bruises, marks and scars.
But she hides them so that only I can see them.

Six days ago I discover her father has gone mad
Becuase he lost his job and suddenly turned bad
He drunk the devil's drink and often hollered with rage
At his daughter who couldn't do a thing

Five days ago her mother died
Of a broken heart
She couldn't take the pain
And let her daughter have it all

Four days ago her funeral was empty except for us
Her father with bloodshot eyes
And smelling of alcohol

Three days ago my loving mother asked " is everything ok? "

I smiled saying it was fine but nothing was ok.

Two days ago she said " I just can't take it anymore.
He's hitting me and hitting me with everything he got "

Yesterday I last saw with tears in her eyes
But didn't listen when I said everything will be alright

Tonight my father knocked at my door
My mother is sobbing on the kitchen floor
He said with a cracked voice that she killed herself last night
She said

" thank you for everything
But I can't take it anymore.
Just live your life and forget about me
Just like everyone else did
Tell the teachers I won't be coming to school today
My homework isn't done
And my work is all gone
Tell everyone in school to not worry about me
I'll be in heaven or hell soon
But I don't know which
I'm running out of room to write
And I just want to say
Remember to speak up someday
Cos silence isn't always golden "

“ why would he do that? “ the victim’s mother screamed.

Saltwater tears fell to the wooden floor.

Silence for a moment.
Then speech from the witness.

” I don’t know! I just saw him with ****** hands! “

I took a long look at the man whom they call ‘ the criminal ‘.

He had a smirk on his face
He said nothing
But I knew what he was saying

“ what other proof do we have aside from the witnesses? “ I enquired.

“ a woman saw him in a shop, stealing a knife and slipped it in his belt. “

“ and I recognise him from a picture on a trophy shelf. “

Silence again.

The sentence comes
The volcano erupts
He explodes
He yells
He pleads
Nothing can convince the guards
Who have no mercy or heart
The guns of the firing squad
The holder of ropes
The press of a button

Silence
We take our leave
I get home
More silence
Knock knock
No one is home

I let out the sigh I held in
I take a glass of sweet whisky
I sleep.
I dream of ****** hands,
A knife in a belt
And a wanted poster on a trophy shelf.