A Cry For Help Poem by Little Butterfly

She was scared,
Had never liked heights,
But they laughed,
Dismissed her fears,
Brought her on the rollercoaster anyway.

There was an essay competition in school.
Her best friend was the favourite to win.
But she won.
They gave her dirty looks
And wouldn’t talk to her.

Her mum was a single parent
Who didn’t make much money.
She couldn’t afford to donate to the charity fundraiser.
They called her stingy,
And selfish.

She shielded her face,
Instinctively,
As the ball flew in her direction,
Earning a retribution from the coach.
They jeered and criticised from across the pitch.

Her mum invited a friend and her daughter to lunch
The daughter was a straight A student,
With perfect hair
And international dancing trophies.
Why couldn’t you be more like that, her mother scolded.

The girl in front of her dropped her copy.
She bent to pick it up
And was told to keep her hands to herself.

She hated her body,
Covered it up,
Wore black so she wouldn’t stand out,
But still they pointed,
Giggled,
And whispered behind their hands.

The teacher saw her scribbling,
When she should have been working,
And pounced.
He ignored her pleas not to read
And recited the poem to the class.
Laughter.

Mental anguish in the mind of a fourteen year old,
Alone in an empty house,
With a full cupboard of medicine.

It was a cry for help, gone wrong, they said,
Nodding knowingly,
But they chided her memory for not saying anything earlier.

Her mother had seen her social life dwindle and peter out.
Her teachers had seen her poems about the release of death.
Her ‘friends’ had seen the scars on her wrists.
Everybody had seen the black shadows under her eyes.
Anybody could have asked if she was alright.
Somebody should have noticed something was wrong.
Nobody did.