I've decided to write a poem for this week's article as I have been thinking very hard about school shootings, suicide, and just people hurting one another for no reason other than to make themselves feel better. I actually wrote this poem about a year ago? I'm not exactly sure anymore as I've written so many different stories, poems, and essays that they all seem to blur together.

This is a heavy subject and I will not make light of it as I am very serious about suicide awareness and ending bullying. I never liked how anyone would willingly take out their own insecurities out on someone else. It completely baffled me, but this bafflement lasted few a minutes before I decided to write this poem. My school was under threat of a boy who'd been bullied and last year, I was a part of a school shooting at my college. The world has changed. Words have always hurt and they will continue to hurt, and there are so many people who've been backed in to a corner and decide to take matters into their own hands. Either to end their suffering or bring vengeance.

I hope this poem enlightens you and makes you think twice before deciding to lash out with your words.

Did I Make the Wrong Choice?

So many things happen.

Yet with each passing day,

they become harder to remember.

The smallest of things that you do,

Become muddy and soon lost.

The largest of things that you do,

Become changeable and sometimes unclear.

The tragedies of things that happen to you,

Become the hardest to forget.

No matter how much you want it to leave,

It stays close to your heart like a weeping child.

How long will the pain last?

Days? Weeks? Months? Years?

Will they ever cease to exist?

Will I always have this stabbing pain?

To even think that way…

To even imagine what it would be like to end all of this…

It saddens me.

How could I ever get through it?

The beatings? The threats? The taunts?

Would it be better to end my life?

Wouldn’t that get rid of my agony?

Or should I kill those who are responsible for my pain?

To see them scared instead of me.

To see how they begged for it to stop.

To let them know how I felt for most of my life.

Or…would getting help be better?

Would they, the teachers, listen?

Would my family believe me?

Would anyone even care to hear my cries of pure agony?

What if they had?

What if I had not taken that gun…

Would things have been different

For me?

I know this is a rather heavy topic and the poem itself is pretty dark, but it was something I felt I needed to share. Please, if you know anyone who is contemplating suicide or you are thinking of ending your life, call the Suicide Prevention Hotline: 800-273-8255.

Every life matters. You are important. You are loved. You are not alone.