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?

There are hearts that break
in silence, with tears
that nobody can see.

So maybe,
                just maybe…

Some tears demand
to be written by the poet's pen,
so others can find beauty
in that which makes us cry.

Maybe,
           just maybe…

The tears of the poets' pen,
unveils the beauty
of love and pain
giving comfort to others
that they’re not alone.

And then again
maybe,
          just maybe…

There will be times
that nobody
will understand your feelings…

Write them anyway
because they are still
so **** beautiful!!*
~

It's a delicate thing
To talk about suicide
Apparently you can't talk about it
Without wanting to do it
You can't reminisce upon the feelings
Without falling down the hole

Even if you're feeling
Ten feet tall
Fully equipped
Metal fists
At the ready
You still can't talk about it

Other people don't want to hear about it
They all assume
That you'll do it
Even if you don't want to
Even if your metal fists
Are feeling secure
No shake in sight
It'll make other people
Uncomfortable
Insecure
Scared
Even when you're not