It's Not Some Game

I lay in bed at night,

thinking about my day.

For the mean whispers and comments hurt me

More than I am able to say.

The following morning is not better.

The sun is out, not a cloud in sight.

I wish my mood was like the weather. 

It's as if the mean comments and whispers get worse

And follow me wherever I go

It gets to a point where I feel

even more low. 

I want to talk to someone.

A friend, teacher, adult, just anyone. 

But when I want to speak,

It's like words go from some to none.

Depression and impulsivity take over my body. I run.

I run so fast I can't see.

What lays ahead of me is an adult.

A trusted one, in fact.

After we talk, she offers to take me back.

Eventually I agree.

I can't fight this alone.

All the feelings I've felt are like the keys on a xylophone.

All different and yet the same.

And that's when I realize, this is serious.

It's not some game.