Product Of Society

When we were little.  
We saw things black and white.  

It was always a yes or no.
This is wrong and this is right.  

All Candies and sweets, chocolate and anything involved with the word Wonka or Nestle was sugar bound and off limits.  

And then we got older.  
And questions pop up.  

"Why can't we do this?"
"Why can't we go here?"
"But why not?"

"Because I said so" our mothers would say and that was the answer.  

No longer a simple yes or no cut it we soon realized everything wasn't just toys and what you should and shouldn't do.  

Curiosity always killed the cat.  
But luckily,
We weren't cats.  

I remember in 6th grade when we had the Drug Assembly and I learned all about the power of methamphetamine and what it does to the brain.  

I vowed I would never ever touch such a thing and not even 3 years later I knew kids my age doing it.  

How could they not remember.
Didn't they have parents?  
Didn't they tell you right from wrong?  
Yes or no?  

Then come to find out you also learn about divorce.  Child abuse and neglect.

Like holy shit as children if you live a healthy, caring life you are sheltered from the darkness of the world until your brain can actually take it.  

Maturity= truth.  

The older you get the more you know that this place isn't as it seemed.  

When you're no longer a child everything piles up but thank god they taught us how to read because I need to learn about the laws of Isaac Newton because obviously I need to learn about gravity instead of the effects cigarettes will have on my body.  

School systems are the doorways to how much a classmate can hate and they teach you about equations and y=mx+b yet they won't tell you why your own friends take their lives at 18 they just say

"bullying."

No.  Cause in elementary kids would pick on me and call me names but it never would follow me home.  It didn't bother my mind to the point where I felt like nothing.

This is not bullying.
This is pure hate.  

Shit needs to change.  

20 years ago this was never an epidemic.
20 years ago cyberspace wasn't invented.
But then personal space was infected by kids that would send essays of fucked up names and words!  

I knew kids that would reveal the sticks and stones in their lint filled pockets but left the broken bones underneath the jeans.  

Unable to believe that people aren't full of hate because at the end of the day they only taught pain.  

I'm ashamed.  
These kids know words hurt but they say the same shit that causes their eyes to rain.  

We have posters about the dangers,
We have TV shows,
Documentaries,
Speeches and poetry pieces showing that this kills!!!  

But still,
STILL,
It happens.  

And when a life flashes before a bullies eye they pretend and deny they didn't realize and notice the signs!  
All lies.  

The rumors
They flutter like flies.  
Going in every direction unsure where they are going.  

Sewing up the landlines so the phone calls can commit the crime of a self proclaimed emotional homicide,
Except this is the trigger pulled by the finger of the person holding the barrel to the head.
This is a suicide.  

WHY!?!?  
BECAUSE THE WORDS FINALLY SURFACED

And It's always too late,
He cocks that chamber back.  
Why'd he hesitate?  
He doesn't wanna die,
He knows this isn't his fate.  
All the fucking weight on his shoulders.  
So much on his plate.  
Clicks the safety off,
Finger on the decision,
Tears running down his cheeks,
The water cutting his vision.  
Shaking trying not to listen to the fear.  
Trying to steer clear of doubt cause tomorrow at school all the kids are going to speak out and that's all he's going to hear.  

And that glock clicks in a split of a second,
Just a kid who was second guessing and not even that stopped the gatt.  

And the next day in class everyone will pretend they loved him.  
It makes me fucking sick.  

All the shit stitched up in his heart where he took all his hits,

Not enough fucking bandaids or pills to take away the headaches from the busy gossip in the hallways where instead of textbooks full of Math problems and essays the backpacks are stacked with ways to break a kid down but don't worry the agony the victim will face is just a part of growing up.
Just a "phase"

"I'm okay"

His last words.  
And his best friend heard the choke of a lie but it never occurred to him that he would find his father's pistol in the safe and when he was 10 years old his dad explained that this is a gun and it's not a toy so do not play with it but he played the game.  

He cornered his last demon and he let it in.  

Check mate.  

So long he prayed for all the monsters to go away but it's not that easy when all the monsters under his bed were actually all the classmates.

Letting the darkness bloom and he had a damn garden.  

And he watered it every day watching it grow because at least something rose up when he felt so low.  

He built ladders on his arms trying to climb out of his depression but it's kinda hard when there's never enough space for the tally marks.  

He is a anomaly,
The kid in the freak show that everyone thinks they know as the child that always stays home and probably constantly alone.  

"He's a weirdo" they say.  

But what they don't know is that he is battling against himself.
He hates his image.  
He hates the scars that blanket over his wrists.
He hates the idea that he feels he is nothing.  
He hates that he can't find something to look forward too.  

He hates that everyone around him smiles and he's forgotten what his teeth look like.  

Becoming the person his mother warned him about tweaking and shaking from the Heroin.  

The needle injected in his veins,
Taking the "Drug-Free" oath away.  
And for months he was so close to an overdose but his body wouldn't let go.  

And the day when he fell from the bullet hole the pain never went away,
It just made its way to his bedroom door.

Where his mother found him dead on the floor,
Trying to wake him up despite all the blood that had poured.  

And too imagine 18 years ago she held him the second he was born,
Taking his first breath and then seeing him in her arms,
Only the memories left.

His room,
Spoonfuls of sugar and cigarettes,
Lighters and journals that he hid from mom because it's all his life regrets and he didn't want the only person he loved to think he was broken.  

It hurts so much....  

This Product of Society we live on.  

Focused on how we should see rather than what we do.  

Shaming things we don't understand.
Hurting people just for the things they love.  
And what is wrong with that?  
It's sad that we accept bloodshed and war but still fight over the concept of same sex marriage or anything else involving love.  

And I honestly don't give a fuck of your religion or your political standpoint or how you were raised to beat someone down for listening to their heart that has only tried making the people less hateful than what they've been molded into its just sick.  

Suicide.  
Pain.
Worthlessness.
Man made depression.  

It all ends when we stop teaching our children that hate is more acceptable than love.  

We all fucking breathe.  
We all fucking feel.  

It's time to make a choice and decide.  

Love never killed anyone.
Hate always will.  














 

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