I lay in bed at night,
thinking about my day.
For the mean whispers and comments hurt me
More than I am able to say.
The following morning is not better.
The sun is out, not a cloud in sight.
I wish my mood was like the weather.
It's as if the mean comments and whispers get worse
And follow me wherever I go
It gets to a point where I feel
even more low.
I want to talk to someone.
A friend, teacher, adult, just anyone.
But when I want to speak,
It's like words go from some to none.
Depression and impulsivity take over my body. I run.
I run so fast I can't see.
What lays ahead of me is an adult.
A trusted one, in fact.
After we talk, she offers to take me back.
Eventually I agree.
I can't fight this alone.
All the feelings I've felt are like the keys on a xylophone.
All different and yet the same.
And that's when I realize, this is serious.
It's not some game.
Comments
I'm so sorry others have spoken such cruel words to you. Hang in there, and keep trying to talk to someone. And keep writing poetry about it! It's one of the best ways to vent your feelings -- and your words are beautiful, even if the topic brings you pain.
Thank you so much - that means a lot.
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