Reality

• Dean Gray, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2014

I’m sick of returning to the place I call home
And having the feeling that I’ll always be alone
I’m always crying without tears that show
Because I have never wanted anyone to know
How empty I am inside, I don’t think I’ve ever cared
If people were scared or if they stop and stared
At the lacerations that lie on my wrist
Sometimes I wish that they didn’t exist
But they do, they show what I’ve been through
But it doesn’t make me any weaker than you
Let the blood soak through the sheets and become a stain
May this be the symbol of my pain, this has never been a game
This is reality, can’t you hear the screams of youth?
Or has our judgement become so clouded that we can’t hear the truth?
This is what we have become, isn’t it handsome?
Our hearts were models and now they’re none.