One cut,
Two cuts,
Three cuts,
Four,
She stops herself…“No, no more”
But lying in the bath tub,
Blade in her hand,
Remembering how she had it all planned,
A little note, on her bed,
Left untouched,
While it read:
“When I’m gone, don’t mourn my death, for I am much better off dead.
Mom and dad, I love you so, it’s not your fault
I just wanted to go.
I needed to leave this hurtful world,
I was never a ‘happy’ girl
I faked a smile for all to see,
If they only knew how much I grieve,
So when you find me, please don’t cry,
It’s not your fault I wanted to die.”
She wipes her eyes,
And looks down at her wrists,
Covered in cuts and blood pouring from it,
Her face was filled with so much hurt
Blood had now covered her shirt.
So this was it,
She thought to herself,
If only those kids could see her here,
She hears their constant mockery and jeer,
“Slut”, “Fat”, “Ugly”
It keeps replaying inside of her head,
More and more she yearns to be dead.
One cut
Two cuts,
Three cuts,
Four,
Cuts until she can’t anymore,
Lying in the bathtub, lifeless,
Still as a dummy,
Tell me; Are your jokes still funny?

BIBI NERIZA RAMLALL (13 years old)