crossing bridges // poetry

poem 5.7

you can be at the brink of death,
yet no one will notice.
your pain isn't physical
so how would they know?
even if it was physical
you wouldn't do anything about it
because you don't want them to know you're hurting
but if you reach deep down
you want someone to come and save you.
they don't know
that every breath you take
you wish it would be your last
because they don't see a mask
over your mouth giving you oxygen;
yet that's how hard it is for you to breathe.
you aren't hit with a ball in gym,
but you still cry.
the people still don't see your tears
because you ask "teacher may I go to the bathroom?"
not "may I go to the nurse to get a band-aid?"
because you don't want them to see your tears;
you don't want to be known as weak.
so instead you file it all away
in the back of your mind;
until you're up at 2:46am
still crying from the pain that was triggered in gym class.
no not because you got hit with a ball;
you got hit with something more painful, more powerful, more invisible.
you got hit with words.
words that knocked you to the ground.
now the tears are flowing
as you look at the bathroom mirror,
hating every detail you see.
no teacher, they did not hit me with a ball and yes I'm okay, physically.
little do they realize that mentally
I'm deteriorating with every word that they hit me with.
soon I won't be able to be hit anymore.