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12 years old This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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When I was twelve
I was what you would call
“in-transition”
trading textbooks and sharp pencils
for rusted razor blades and
bottles of Mike's hard lemonade
Twelve years old had me spouting angry hate-filled words at my brothers
and drove my fists into the face of an
overweight boy with an over-confidence problem
At twelve years old
I was beginning to discover myself
and
drowning in the pieces I couldn't yet understand
The cracks in the dam of my past leaked through
leaving me empty with nothing but anger and hate
12 years old made me invincible
and then had me tumbling down the mountain every time
I reached the top.
At twelve years old
I had the decision on whether
to save the life of a friend or
help him kill himself with the decorative blade he hung up in his room
Because I was only twelve
I ran away
I still remember the thud of the white door slamming behind me
Call me a coward,
a b----,
an ungrateful bastard
but that day
I chose to save myself
because I know that in the end
the only person you can truly save
is yourself,
At the age of twelve,
I was becoming someone
but I was still
nobody

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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