The bell rang
a hopeful tone to all the students
for it means their torture is over.
But not for the boy.
For he'll get followed,
and teased.
Horrible words flung at him
as he exits the cold halls.
He puts his head down
and keeps on moving,
ignoring the cruel jibes.
He has to ignore them,
because those words
do not define him.

He's outside now
and he falls down.
No one tripped him this time.
Everyone was laughing
surrounding him
in a cruel circle.
He felt like a circus freak,
the clown that made everyone laugh
at his own expense.
I'll do it.

"Everyone back off!
The boy heard a voice break through.
"What's you're problem!
"Leave him be!"
The crowd dispersed,
and the boy sat there quietly.
Preparing to face his new attacker.
But this kid didn't attack him.

I reached out my hand
The boy looked up slowly,
he saw the hand
outstretched toward him.
I saw him breathe deeply,
Then he reached for my hand.
There was an instant connection,
an understanding between them.
The boy looked up at the kid
his grateful smile
made the kid happy.
I'm glad I intervened

The boy was helped up,
and escorted by the kid,
out of his Hell.
I think this will work.
I think I can help him,
and he can help himself.
He just needed a hand,
to pick him up,
when he's knocked down.

I'm scared,
I might get bullied too
"You don't have to help me."
The boy whispered quietly.
I froze at those words.
He sounded so alone,
so helpless.
I was like that once.
"I do, and I will"
The kid whispered back.

It's hard to fight this all alone,
....but the start of the solution needs that helping hand.

I was like him once.
Constantly bullied.
I watched him during my class,
And the memories flooded back.

I was falling again,
My face smashing into the ground,
For my arms were full of books,
so I couldn't break my fall.
Kids were laughing,
my nose was bleeding,
God there was so much blood.
But it got worse.
There was more blood to come.

The boy sat in class,
not really focusing on the lesson.
His head was throbbing,
and his wrist was swollen.
He didn't want to go home today,
he would have to hide it.
His parents couldn't know,
because then they would move,
and he would never fix this
on his own.
But it was becoming too much.
He turned his head
he made eye contact
with another kid.

I had to move
when I was beaten too many times
there was so much blood...
Wait,
Is he looking at me?
He is,
Oh God,
I didn't mean to stare.
Can I even help him?

That kid looked away,
and the boy sighed deeply.
It hurt to breathe,
It hurt to just even exist.

What horrible things to live through.
...But it's the start of the memories that spark the solution.

I wanted to write a poem.
About something very important.
Something that should have never happened.
Something that we can't just ignore.
But for a solid hour I couldn't remember,
what I was writing for.

Was it for the people we lost that day?
The people who lost someone?
The pride we once felt,
gone as a nation crumbled,
our unity was threatened,
and our fear was amplified.

How can I even be breathing right now?
I expect the tears to fall.
I feel them,
but they just won't come out.
All I see when I close my eyes,
are images of that day.

I was to young to remember it clearly,
but I saw enough pictures,
too many pictures.
The day we realized we weren't invincible,
was the day the Twin Towers fell.
That day is today.
That day was Hell.

I just wanted to write a poem,
one that would't be inflicted
with sadness and with rage.
Maybe it will be one about love,
maybe I can make that change?

This one will have a happy ending,
everything I write is too bitter sweet.
But I knew what day today was,
and I decided to write while knowing
what this day will do to me.

I walked into school this morning
and I looked around.
I spoke to people before class started.
Not one of them mentioned this day,
most of them didn't even know what day it was.
That saddens me,
and angers me.

These are the same people
who will say they care,
but never actually do anything in person.
I cried last night,
I cried today.
I said the Pledge of Allegiance
with so much conviction.
The rest of my class didn't say it at all.
They never do.

It's disrespectful
to forget what day today is.
As if people don't have the time
to take just a moment,
one moment out of their day,
and remember.

I wanted to write a poem,
something that was happy.
But today is not a happy day.
The only comfort I have in today,
is that the towers are back,
our pride is back,
our nation is back,
our hope is back.

Let's just hope that everyone's memory comes back too,
because this day does not deserve
to be forgotten,
so carelessly.


I just wanted to write this poem,
for all who remember,
that today is,
September 11.
Better known as,
9/11.

Can you hear the clock 'a ticking
won't you come to the meadow soon
lay my dead bones 'a dancing
to stare up at the moon

will you come down to see me
when my bones are in the grave
I ask cause you haven't been here lately
and I'd like to see your face

the flowers 'neath my head have changed to brown
and the nearby trees are quite aged
you never took the time to come around
to bid me farewell at my grave

the clock has long since stopped ticking
and the meadow has faded into ruin
my bones have forever ceased their dancing
eyes darkened by the moon

*please come and see me soon