The other day, a boy brought a loaded gun to school. 1000 pairs of watching eyes, hundreds of Facebook posts demanding a name, 10 cop cars outside of turner high, 2 boys who robbed a house, and one boy, with one loaded gun. When I told my mom a boy with a pistol showed up during 4th hour she didn’t even look up from making dinner, not because she doesn’t care, but because a school shooting threat just became every other Friday. The first threat of this year was made by a boy with dark purple hair, angry that he wasn’t allowed to stalk innocent girls, this time a boy was robbed of almost everything, except his ability to load a gun.... I don’t know when it happened, when they replaced fire drills with lock down, when a popped bag of chips stopped a heart beat, when the boy who broke a window got a felony and the one with a weapon got a misdemeanor. My life isn’t worth much but I thought it would be at least worth a year. When did a corpse become necessary for a sentencing? When did a gun become as casual as a book? When did weapons become more popular than to **** a mockingbird? When did the teenage funerals become weekly events?

I never meant to hurt you;
But the temptation to play as if you were a puppet on a string was there.
I’m a monster
With a face of a flower but the smell of disgust that lingers under my intentions.
Don’t trust me;
I warned you and begged you to not fall for such a creature yet... here we are.
With a grin;
I’ll call you babe and say you’re perfect without a second thought.
And with a generic smile;
I’ll say I like someone else because the risk of love is far too high.
Move on to the next toy;
My growing collection of broken toys lay at my feet waiting to be fixed.
But I’m broken too;
Because we’re all toys in the beginning. I wish I could be fixed

Bathrooms became sanctuary in high school;
with tear stained countertops,
gossip soaked walls.
Even the constipated souls
had motion.

Pressing their hands against the ceramic demilune sinks
they would let their tears flow like water through the faucet,  
until they found comfort in the arms of another.

Hours spent before, between and after classes
they found comfort and friends
in the conversation that flowed in the bathroom.

Checking themselves over and over again
with the reassuring voices, “you look great” from behind.
Some walk in and hide behind the door of the lavatory stalls,
flushing away sadness,
and washing on a smile on to their face.

Like the granite in the slabs, the memories made
will will be hard to wear off.

We used to meet
Every Friday
Now we don't.

Unhappiness and misery,
Loneliness, sorrow, and shame,
Who could know that all of this  
Would come from a simple game?

My jersey rests upon my back,
#1 it shines with a gleam,
There are players all around,
But I don't feel like part of any team.

The sidelines are my painful home,
A reminder that im not good enough,
but I can't cry, not a single tear,
The eyes of friends have made me tough.

I watch them work at what they love,
The struggle and the fight,
While my mouth forces, smiling words,
Cheers that never seem right.

I wont complain, not anymore,
but I don't know what to do,
You just turn away from me,
Why can't I spill my heart to you?

My parents asked me if I played,
Eyes downcast, I still lie,
Because they wouldnt understand,
When they don't know how hard i try.

How come this doesn't hurt you?
You must be so much stronger,
To shrug it off, not seem to care,
Its hard to take it any longer.

I'm sorry if I feel useless,
but you bleed too, don't you see?
And if it doesn't bother you?
Well, im sorry that it's hurting me.

I'm ready to begin again
Where my life doesn't revolve
around having a million fake friends
A popularity contest for 13 years of my life
I'm ready to not be afraid
To stand on an edge and say
I'm me, all me, and only me
To be someone
I choose to be
Not some predetermined destiny
To love myself and all around
To sit on my throne as Queen
and be crowned

do you know why there is this thing called pain?

because you keep on reaching out for something that you can’t reach

because you keep on thinking if maybe he did this because of that so you will always thing there still is probability

because you keep on letting the memory that you hold on to so tightly alone in your heart and mind playing all of those beautiful memories that ever happened

then, who creates pain?

you did.