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The Call of the Mountain

“It’s okay,” they whisper to him, “it will be all right.”
But they don’t know that he is hoping he won’t make it through the night.
They don’t know about the ones at school who laugh and point and tease.
They don’t know about those who punch and kick and scream.
They don’t know about the daily torture, the books, the cruel.
They don’t know about the girl he loves, looking at him like he’s the fool.
He doesn’t want them to know any of it, not a single scene or word.
And yet he wants to scream it to the heavens, begging to be heard.
They don’t know about the whispers, chilling his back like ice.
They don’t know about the hits, the holding down like a vice.
They don’t know about the spilled drinks and food, knocked over by the devil’s hand.
Oh, how much easier it would be, if he just took off, just ran.
But he doesn’t want them to know any of it, not a single scene or word.
He only wants to fly away, to be as weightless as a bird.
They don’t know about the names, oh, the names called and screamed and yelled.
They don’t know about the boy that pushed him- he never “tripped and fell.”
They ask about the damage- the cuts and bruises and all.
They don’t know that behind each lie, is a mountain that stands tall.
A mountain that calls and beckons him, pleading him to come.
A mountain that whispers to him in his dreams, “Problems? None.”
“Not after you are done with me, a prayer, a jump, goodbye.”
“Trust, me, you won’t feel a thing- you’ll feel like you can fly.”
“Feel invincible for three seconds more and come into my grasp.”
“If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that the pain is fast.”
“Fast, nay none, one second and you’re gone.”
“Flying high above all of those who used you like a pawn.”
“A piece, a player, a puppet to amuse.”
“A trinket that can be captured, toyed with, abused.”
“Stand for it no more, come, I can help.”
“I promise it is quick and quiet- from your lips, not a yelp.”
And he kicks and cries and pleads and begs for the mountain to leave him alone.
But it just keeps coming into his sleep, into his room, his home.
Finally, he just can’t take it anymore, the stress is piling up.
The bullies are getting into his head, he really needs a pickup.
He thinks it over once or twice and says he’s ready to go.
Appeasement is the only option- at the mountain he will show.
It’s a far way away, his journey hard and long.
He walks all through the night, stands at the crack of dawn.
He looks and looks at the valley below, soft and sweet and kind.
He wonders if anyone will ever know what was going on in his mind.
They don't know that he is here, they probably never will.
The soft breezes caressing his face a tranquilizing pill.
His body goes numb, his cheeks wet, toes hanging over the peak.
He daydreams of his funeral, if anyone will speak.
This is to all of you, he thinks, bending his knees to jump.
All of you who pushed me into every snag, every hit, every bump.
“It’s all right,” he whispers to himself, “you’re going to be okay.”
But as he jumps, he knows for sure he won’t make it through the day.



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