There once was a girl, broke and alone,
She would never go out, but always stay home.
People made fun of her, calling her worthless and ugly,
She stood in the mirror, examining her body.
She hated herself from head to toe,
She was scared of the world, didn’t know where to go.
Her cold silver razor was her only friend,
It had her back until the very end.
The end was near; she knew that for a fact,
She just wanted a friend, that’s all she really asked.
The names got worse as the days got longer,
She couldn’t take it anymore, her days turned foggier.
So after school, she took her friend,
And sliced her wrist, which was the end.
The funeral came along, her mom and dad were there,
They screamed “Why, God, why?!” and threw their hands in the air.
Her classmates showed up, they were nothing but silent,
They knew in school they had been too violent.
She had a future ahead of her,
A husband, kids, career.
Her dreams would now never come true, thanks to her peers.
This poem wasn’t meant to tell a tragedy,
More of a central message:
Words hurt. They can do a lot more that damage.