the kid who sits behind you in class says, "i really should just kill myself,"
and each time you say, "please don't,"
and you try to joke about it, the two of you, because it's a game, isn't it?
things are easier when you say it's a game,
so he's the one who starts it-- "maybe i should die,"
and you're the one who ends it-- "i don't want you to."
your best friend says that if abortion becomes illegal, she doesn't know what to do.
"if i get pregnant and i can't do anything about it, i think i'll die," she says.
she tells you that she'll never get with a man (she much prefers women)
so if she ever has a kid it isn't by choice. she doesn't like the idea of living in that aftermath.
"i'll help you," you say. "don't die. if that happens, come to me, i don't care about the law, i'll help you."
she doesn't look like she believes you. you can't find it in you to blame her.
your lunch table laughs over grades, over parental expectations, and you all laugh every time.
"if i don't bring home a 6 for the ap exams," one friend says, "i'm not allowed to have dinner."
everyone laughs.
"my mom says she doesn't care what grades i get," another friend jokes. "she says it hurts me more than her."
everyone laughs.
"i've become an expert at acoustics," you tell them. "i can hear when they're walking down the hall to my door."
you can feel the creak of the floorboards, vibrations in the walls, mastered it when you were six. you learn to never lock your door after your brother does it once.
everyone laughs. everyone laughs, and you join in because it's funny, because you're all the only ones who gets the joke.
it's all just fun, all just jokes, the adults say grow up and that's nothing to laugh about and why are you all like this
but they never ask why?
but they never ask how can we help?
it's only the kids, the kids always exaggerate their hurts,
nothing to care about here.
can't you try to see? we say, turning it into a joke,
laughter has always been the best medicine.
can't you save us?
and each time you say, "please don't,"
and you try to joke about it, the two of you, because it's a game, isn't it?
things are easier when you say it's a game,
so he's the one who starts it-- "maybe i should die,"
and you're the one who ends it-- "i don't want you to."
your best friend says that if abortion becomes illegal, she doesn't know what to do.
"if i get pregnant and i can't do anything about it, i think i'll die," she says.
she tells you that she'll never get with a man (she much prefers women)
so if she ever has a kid it isn't by choice. she doesn't like the idea of living in that aftermath.
"i'll help you," you say. "don't die. if that happens, come to me, i don't care about the law, i'll help you."
she doesn't look like she believes you. you can't find it in you to blame her.
your lunch table laughs over grades, over parental expectations, and you all laugh every time.
"if i don't bring home a 6 for the ap exams," one friend says, "i'm not allowed to have dinner."
everyone laughs.
"my mom says she doesn't care what grades i get," another friend jokes. "she says it hurts me more than her."
everyone laughs.
"i've become an expert at acoustics," you tell them. "i can hear when they're walking down the hall to my door."
you can feel the creak of the floorboards, vibrations in the walls, mastered it when you were six. you learn to never lock your door after your brother does it once.
everyone laughs. everyone laughs, and you join in because it's funny, because you're all the only ones who gets the joke.
it's all just fun, all just jokes, the adults say grow up and that's nothing to laugh about and why are you all like this
but they never ask why?
but they never ask how can we help?
it's only the kids, the kids always exaggerate their hurts,
nothing to care about here.
can't you try to see? we say, turning it into a joke,
laughter has always been the best medicine.
can't you save us?
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