Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words can never hurt me.
Everyday a life is lost, it is the cost,
of something mean.
A mother can do nothing but blame,
not herself, nor her child, but that little white cabinet,
just sitting there with its orange bottles flaunting death.
Child proof, they said. People lie.
It is hard to learn this way but life isn’t easy.
I sometimes wonder who would miss me if I died.
Maybe the ones that broke my heart but never knew it,
or maybe the ones that hurt me and always meant it.
Would the boy I like go home and miss me?
Would my friends wish they had been able to do something?
I don’t plan on dying anytime soon though,
because confidence is key and I don’t care who hates me.
I have friends and family who love me for I am,
and even if I did take my own life,
I’d make sure that everyone knows that it isn’t their fault,
because guilt is much worse than death.