This next poem, Reflection, I wrote when I was about 10 years old.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you crying again?”
I ask of a guy I know.
He sobs helplessly,
As more tears begin to flow.
“No wonder no one likes you! Look at you!
You cry all of the time.
You’re just so pathetic,
All you ever do is whine.”
“I know.” He whispers.
“What’s your problem? You’re not any fun,
You’re always just so sad,
I have to waste my time being around you!
It’s me that should be mad!”
“I know.” Spoken even more softly.
“I’m usually nice, but this is getting old,
I can’t even stand to be around you.
You should just kill yourself,
That’s what you should do.”
“I know.” Even softer still.
“Go ahead and do it! Your parents hate you,
And you don’t even have one real friend!
Your life is worthless anyway,
Just bring it to an end.”
“I should.” He thought out loud.
“You’re stupid and you’re ugly…..
Why are you still crying?
Everyone talks behind your back,
I’m the only person not lying!”
“I KNOW!” he screams.
Body shaking, filled with tears,
He decides to end it here,
I put the gun to my head,
As I turn away from the mirror.
It’s a poem about having Schizophrenia and hearing voices, which I have since I was four or five. Often, they were unkind and encouraged suicide. Even if you’re not Schizophrenic, you are often your biggest critic and can be your worst enemy if you let your thoughts echo back to you from dark places.