She clutches the nook,
Putting her head down.
One last look.
One last look before everything was over and done,
One last look,
No longer fun.
She didn't want to die,
But everyones hate
Made her want to just say goodbye.
'Why should I keep on living if no one cares?'
Ran through her head,
As she glanced at the floor with an empty stare.
Tears silently fell down her face as she ties the rope,
Begging that no on would come home,
Or she would lose all hope.
Why did she have to be hurt?
Pushed and shoved,
As if dirt.
All because she wasn't 'normal'.
But is there such a thing?
Why did anyone consider her a freak?
Why did anyone say such names, like,
Slut; Whore; Ugly; Fat; Worthless; Geek.
Who is it to consider that?
Those words hurt,
Not physically, but like being hit in the heat with a metal bat.
It stung worse than being attacked by a plethora of angry, swarming bumblebees,
And whilst you laughed, ingorant of everything,
She stood there with the pain, from which she couldn't flee.
It lay there,
Etched in her heart.
Leaving it so cold and bare.
When such words are said,
It's all someone believes,
Because it stays in their head.
She takes one last breath and one last look.
She takes her final step.
A final step was all it took.
