That boy who you see in class everyday,
Yeah, the one with the long hair that covers his eyes
And the dark, ratty sweatshirt?
Do you know what he goes through on a daily basis?
His mom is a crack addict, his dad is in jail,
And he's the youngest of seven siblings.
The only real food he ever gets is
The “terrible” school lunch, which to him
Tastes like heaven.
The only real exercise he gets is from
Running away from his mom when she's high,
And the only real alone time he ever gets is
When his mom locks him in the
Bathroom for days at a time.
So don't get mad at him for
Missing your group's presentation day,
Or for always asking you for your food at lunch.
Get mad at the people who make
His life at school as bad as home,
The people who talk loudly about his horrible hygiene,
Who laugh when he doesn't understand a math problem,
Who visibly flinch whenever he walks by just for the fun of it.
Get mad at them.
And then get mad at yourself.
Be upset with yourself for having the power
To help this kid and kids like him, and ignoring it.  
Be upset with yourself for talking
About him behind his back,
Refusing to share your food at lunch with him,
And for avoiding him in class.
Be upset with yourself.
And then do something with this anger,
This passion you have built up.
Share his story, help someone like him,
At least vow to never, ever, let something
Like this happen to your child.
I wrote this poem.
What will you do?

When you hurt, a part
Of me experiences
A share of your pain.

As I took a walk outside,
I noticed something that caught my eye.
Twisted in the grass, ingrained with dirt,
What I saw made my heart hurt.

Monarch's wings I had found,
Which gave me feelings so profound.
An intense sadness, helplessness, fear,
Overcame me as I beheld these artifacts dear.

In death or life, they must have been torn,
These beautiful wings that the creature bore.
I picked them up and held them close,
These wings that symbolized what I feared the most-

Losing myself, my biggest part,
The part of my soul that is dearest to my heart.
And what for my memories, good and bad?
What if I couldn't remember anything; wouldn't that be sad?

The monarch's wings sit still on my dresser,
A reminder of my constant stressor,
Yet also comforting me just the same,
As I pass through each day, feeling slightly more brave.

Sometimes I wish I could cry forever,
Because once is never enough for all
Of my emotions, all my bitter, selfish emotions.
I want to feel the waterfall on my face, struggle to breathe,
Disgust myself as the tears pool up on my neck.
I want to curl up in a protective ball, shut out the world,
And just let go.
Sometimes I wish I could cry
F
     o
           r
                e
                      v
                           e
                                 r
                                       .
                                            .
                                                 .

Do roses know that they can be beautiful,
But harmful?
Do they have the power to
Stop themselves from luring someone in
And then hurting them?
No, they don't.
But humans do.

It’s bad when I run
Out of titles for all my
Sad poems about you.

He gently traced her scars,
Kissed them gently,
Helped them heal.
She calmed his troubled breathing,
Rubbed his back,
Hugged him tightly.
They were there for each other,
When the world and
Their own minds attacked them,
When no one else came to their aid.
That's love.

I am trying to
Smile even though my heart
Still sobs over you.

Life is like tubing.
If you don't make an effort to hold on,
To stay on track,
You won't.
If the person closest to you shoves you,
You might slide off,
Or you could simply hang on and try harder.
If the people with you help you and
Tell you where to hold on and when to lean,
You might make it.
But even if you fall off, the driver of the boat of your life,
God, will always come around and pick you up,
Make sure you're okay,
And send you on your way again.
Life is like tubing.
Hang on and
Never lose faith in your driver.

You don’t know my mind,
My thoughts, my reasoning
Behind my actions.
What to you may seem selfish
Or simply eccentric,
Is what I need to do
To function, to continue
Breathing without hyperventilating,
Completely breaking down.
So please be patient.
You don’t know what I’m going through.