Think.

An old poem I wrote more than a year ago.

 

Think.

 

You say he’s stupid
Fat, ugly, transgender
He’s got an eating disorder.
Homosexual, emo, full of crap
God, you’re such a drag.
And you think you’re being fair?
You label him, stupid, nerd, goth
Make fun of his scars, resting face and whatnot
And then, when he cries, “man up, you’re such a girl.”
You say men can’t cry, men can’t have insecurities?
You say he’s crying for no reason, after you beat him up in the school corridor.
You say he should go kill himself.
Well, you got what you wanted.
He’s gone.
Forever.
He left a note.
It said, “I did what you asked. Will you leave me alone now?”
His family is crying,
His best and only friend is depressed,
Everyone is blaming themselves.
“Good, were better off without him,” you say.
But at the back of your mind, a voice says, “You killed someone.”
“He’s dead because of you.”
“You’ll never get to apologise.”
And it’s right.
Because he’s never coming back.
Why should he? So you say he wasn’t manly enough to withstand it?
Next time you make fun of someone, think.
If you don’t, he could be gone before you blink.

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