Under Her Bed

• Isabelle Berry, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2019

She cried every night under her bed,
All the hurtful words made her wish she was dead,
She couldn't change what she was like,
But that didn't stop people from calling her a dyke,
She was amazing at drawing,
But there was a catch that was far from boring,
The pencil was a razor and the paper was her skin,
She hid all her pain under a fake cheesy grin,
The blood was released like a dove from a cage,
Finally letting go of all that built up rage,
Tears dripped from her sad swollen eyes,
As she thought of her lies,
Her life was a massive nightmare,
But she couldn't think of anyone that would care,
So she said goodbye to herself under her bed,
And the next day her Mother found her dead.