GOODBYE TO MY WORLD
The U-Haul truck pulls up to the front of our house.
This is the last time I'll be able to say "our house,"
though it will be my home forever.
A few guys in blue uniform hop out with names like Al, Joe, Bob, or Pat.
They walk up the front steps, past me, and slam their closed fists against the
metal screen door.
They don't even realize what an awful day it is.
They don't even care.
Well - I care.
Sure, it's a beautiful, hot day in May, but who cares about the weather when
you're losing your childhood.
The men haul their asses around looking to load my memories into the back of
their cold, musky van,
to drag them to a new building, and say "Welcome home,"
and I'm already home.
They take our TV, my purple unicorn bicycle with a banana seat, and all of my
We're leaving my world.
Off to a new place I'd never even heard of.
I don't want to hear about it,
and I don't want friends from there.
I don't want to grow up out there when I could be ... should be here with them.
I get up, and go inside.
I say goodbye to the sun porch - it's my favorite room.
I walk up the stairs and head to my empty bedroom.
I sit on the cold, wooden floor, and I cry for what seems like years.
Mom yells up, "It's time."
So I get up.
I kiss my door goodbye.
Now how dumb is that????
I wipe the tears from my burning eyes,
and walk out of my house for the last time,
and I'll never forgive you.
by Kate C., Shrewsbury, MA
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.