Youth

When she was a kid,

She smoked cigarettes and

Drank from tiny liquor bottles,

Only because she wanted to be

Cool, but inside, she hated

Herself for it.

She wasn’t the only

Kid who grew up

This way.

The world she grew

Up in was plagued with

Survival of the Richest,

Surrounded by people who

Used to say that rhyme about

Sticks and stones, as if broken

Bones hurt more than what

They were called, and they

Were called them all.

His mind was a house

With walls, covered in

Lyrics, in suicide notes

And tear-stained diaries,

Thanking his parents who

Took him downstairs and

Beat him till he screamed and

Cried, but he always has a

Room just dedicated to them.

His mind was a house

With walls covered in pain.

His problem was he couldn’t fix

Things, knowing that

He would never clean

And repaint his walls.

In his safe room,

He could hear his friends

Pleading for him not to go,

Saying “I know you

Want to go, but friend, don’t

Take your life from me”, but he

Watched, but never really listened,

Never understanding what

Was wrong and what was right.

He finally stood up one day

And screamed, “I APOLOGIZE!”

But his words were empty,

Because he knew that they

Wouldn’t forgive him.

She was a broken branch

Grafted onto a different family tree,

not because her parents

Opted for a different destiny.

She tried to empty herself of all

Emotions, knowing that

She’d be lonely forever.

Four-fifths suicidal,

A tidal wave of antidepressants,

Had a personality made up of

Tests and pills,

Living like the uphills

Were mountains and the

Downhills were cliffs.

She tried to commit

Suicide when she was in

Grade seven, when

A kid who still go home

To her new Mom and Dad

Who had the audacity to

Tell her “Get Over It”

As if depression was

Something that could be

Remedied by any of the

Contents of a first aid kit.

I lived with

One parent who

Cared and another who

Abused me.

I know that I, to

My mother, am an

Afterthought, after

Money and being popular.

And now I see clearly

After all the times

I simply stepped aside,

Watching but not really

Listening,

And I realize that these

Teens who I grew

Up with, we are all

From the same story

Of abuse, of loss,

Of horrible things,

But we are all animals,

The only difference is that

We can talk and have thumbs.

We are the youth that

Are supposed to continue

The path of destruction

That humanity has

Caused, but we won’t

Get help just because

We’re demons,

But the last generation

Won’t help us get

Rid of our demons.

To the people

I mentioned in this poem,

And you know who you are,

I’m sorry for what’s happened

To you, and for the people

Who abused us,

You should’ve been helping us

Instead of hurting us.

-H.C

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