• Bullying: The Cold Truth

    Sitting on the bed
    Music playing trying to take the mind of the freedom-jailing place we call school, the place where as soon as you turn five, your like everyone else and if you aren’t your called a freak, loser, or even different
    As if being different was the worst thing you could be, like being a prostitute or drop-out
    Sharp icicles of pain and sorrow hit like an already open, gushing wound
    Mind in the state of oppression, it wanders about the thoughts of death and relief, the pain-killer of school, and life
    Heading towards the bathroom where Father keeps his razor blades, reaching into the medicine cabinet to take one
    Death sits there, laying his scythe on the edge of the blade, waiting in anticipation
    With blood shot eyes tears were being shed like the Spirit and heart because of the world’s cruel words and messages
    Forehead beaded with sweat the memories of sweet, innocent childhood, or supposedly; just because the stabs to the back didn’t hurt as much as the heart; as if words really don’t hurt
    Eyes closed, flashbacks—Slit
    Grinning ear to ear, Death claps and gives a standing ovation as the thing used to be call a “body” lays there in a puddle of dark red. Pale.
    Death grabs the hand and whispers, “Nice to have you…”
    But the saddest part, are the peoples’ reactions
    Bullies aren’t shocked, they just wonder why, as if they had not one clue why they took their lives
    So called friends got over it very quickly
    Family is scarred for life, knowing that their last memory of their loved one was seen, laying cold and lifeless as the bullies themselves
    And the bullies carry on, picking out their next weak link in the chain.

    To this day (Poem)—Shane Koyczan [Find it on Youtube!)