P
I Don’t Want to Remember
Copyright, Pamela
The day you turned sixteen
coming to school with a bandaged arm
trying to hide it under long sleeves but
attracting uncomfortable glances,
questions and accusations.
I don’t want to remember you locking yourself
in the bathroom stall,
hearing the unraveling of toilet paper,
then brush against your broken skin,
seeing you open the door, smiling,
ready to return to class.
I don’t want to remember your self mutilation
confusing close friends and family,
forcing us to ask ourselves what we did wrong.
I wanted to forget about you falling
asleep in the hall,
Exhausted after staying up
to study the entire night
because you have to be as good as
everyone else or you
would have to be punished.
Tired of trying so hard to understand your actions,
sick of always hearing this time
you couldn’t control it
but next time
it would be different.
Untitled
Copyright, Patrick
I don’t have anybody to talk to,
I don’t have anybody to confide in,
Even if I did, I wouldnt be able to tell them anything,
Because I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I unscrewed a light bulb,
And crushed it with my fist.
I extracted the bloody shards from my palm,
and drove it into one of the veins on my wrist.
I washed my hands of all the blood,
I washed my mind of all the pain,
I cleased my skin of all the mud,
But the shards of glass still remain.
I wish I had somebody.
I wish I had anybody.
I have nothing.
Then, off in the distance, the bells stop ringing…
They’re gone.
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