I Am Not A Medic. I Am Hope.

• Krystal Lundy, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2011

I may not be a healer,
But that is a great start...
For I don't heal the mortal wounds,
I heal inside the heart.
I heal wounds other people make,
with careless words or actions.
I tend the scars and heal the fear,
of bullies' satisfactions.
I listen well to all their tales,
of pain and sorrow, too.
I talk as well, and help them think,
until their mind is through.
For when I was a child, of ten,
I'd not a troubled mind.
And I looked to help somewhere,
and she was who I'd find.
Her name was Laura, Laura Dew,
And seeing her was well.
For as soon as I had noticed her,
the boys pushed, and she fell.
I helped her up and scolded them,
as she smiled with her disguise.
It did not matter the pain she felt,
'cause she still wouldn't cry.
She told me once that she was strong,
and now I can't help wonder.
what did her strength mean, after all?
As we grew much fonder.
But soon enough her fearless smile
had started losing hope,
and later I had to find out,
that she could only mope.
I let it pass but she left me,
soon saying goodbye.
I didn't know what she had meant
until her body was at my side.
I cried for weeks, and later still,
but my tears were only useless.
No matter all the sorrow shed,
my efforts were too fruitless.
So I decided, there and then,
I would be of use,
to other kids who felt that pain,
to stop the mental noose.
So I studied hard to find a cure,
for this killing disease.
And after I found there was none
my studies never ceased.
I graduated fair and square,
and left home with a smile.
I knew I'd help them all somewhere,
and I'll always try.
So I became a councillor,
with a lot of hope to boot.
Chasing down the lonely kids,
I'd stay in hot pursuit.
And soon enough, they came to me,
with their troubles, in herds,
and so I let them spill it all,
as I turned feelings into words.
I may not be a doctor,
yes, I know it's true.
But maybe, soon, one of these days,
my patient might be you.