Death and Other Fun Stuff (#Wattys2015)

Soldiers At War

I saw a poem online

written by a depressed kid.

It said that there should be

medals given for battles like ours,

that our victories should

be celebrated with lots of champagne.

I thought 

of teenagers crying

every night,

mascara staining

soft white cotton sheets

mom's kitchen knife held to

their pale smooth wrists.

I thought of bulging bellies and thighs,

dinners turned away

anorexia carving away at a

bird bone thin

body.

But

Then I thought of soldiers at war

blood bursting

limbs blown off

bullets tearing flesh

explosions shaking the ground,

drowning out civilian screams.

I thought of hearts racing

comrades falling and

commands screamed by callous generals.

I thought of post- traumatic stress

corroding and warping minds too young.

call me cheesy-

I thought of

bird bone thin

bodies

rummaging through rotted dumps

for scraps of food,

little hands outstretched on city streets.

Look at us silly first- worlders,

wallowing in self diagnosed

anxiety and depression

crawling to therapists and phyciatrists

for a pill to drive away

every imperfection.

How can we compare

tears wrought of selfishness

to the horrors that

smolder in our own backyards?

I was told once that life sucks,

but that the pretty kids and the rich kids

have it easy.

Don't you know, that

We are the pretty kids,

our smooth skin not torn by war

our eyes lined and our nails glittering

We are the rich kids,

meals on ceramic plates

and five pairs of shoes.

someday maybe,

we will see past

ourselves

and see the truth that has been dangling in our faces

for all of eternity