Lost Letters

L i b r a r y

The alarm blares
Everyone reacts

Yet instead of getting up
They scribble faster

They breathe harder
They read sparingly

I question the meaning of the alarm

Does it mean there's danger?
Or does it mean to hurry up?

The small musty room
Once Bearing the stale color
Of an off-brand rainbow

Now lights up in a fast pace
Of red and white

I am the only one to stop writing
Though one could argue I hadn't started

I stare at the clock
As I had been doing for some time

But now it feels different

The new sounds
The new colors

Bring in an energy I've been lacking
Though it dies as quickly as it lived
As a new bell rings

The lights are cut off
And the alarm vanishes

Everyone gets up
But I do not

I know I do not deserve to
Because the weight I carry says so

And the hand that stands for security

Drags the feeling deeper into my chest
As it carefully weighs onto my desk

I stare at the flesh
It is tough and boney
I never wish to become these hands

Then I lift my head
Although it feels as if I am lifting cement

I stare at the face that is to help me
As they harshly stare back

They voice the words

How can you fix this

And as many days I've stared at the clock
I have repeated to these caretakers

I do not know

All the while thinking

Please help me
Although they always failed to

- A. Dream

Author speaking:
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I kind of wanted to talk about the story behind this poem; so here I am!

This is based off of the feeling I had as a kid after the summer of 2015 In elementary school. I wasn't very good in class, I never raised my hand, never spoke up, and never did my work. I had extreme trouble in all subjects and hated Mathematics and English. I know, shocking now that I have a poetry book. No one knew how to help me. On the teacher's part of the responsibility to help me grow and learn I'd say they both
failed.

That summer of 2015 I was sexually assaulted and didn't know how to cope. I never told anyone because I didn't know what had happened. I felt humiliated to tell my family in case I didn't make sense and they would just blow me off, as they usually did when I had strange ideas that didn't make sense to them. All I knew was that it felt wrong. I could never focus in class after, everything in my head felt fuzzy and humid. I was constantly in an uncomfortable and slightly confused state of mind. I would zone out at any moment involuntarily, causing humility almost every day in class once I was called on and didn't know the answer, or when I had an essay to write but could only get a sentence on the paper. I was always frantic yet tired. I wanted to pay attention, I wanted to learn, I wanted to be a part of the group. I wanted so badly but I couldn't.

I remember being angrily ordered to go out of class. Getting up and being ashamed of myself as I stood in the hallway. My teacher soon following me out and asking me what she can do to help me. How what ideas could I come up with that would help me. If I had known in any way, if I had even the slightest clue, as to how I could be helped I would yell it at the top of my lungs. But I remained quiet, and so did she. I then slowly started to realize that if not even a teacher could help me, then who could? And I cried. I fought hard and long not to, I twisted my face and hid in my hands but I couldn't stop. The pain in my chest god worse and the headache in my ears pounded more. She just stood there. She stood there with her arms folded and a pitiful yet disappointed look displayed on her face As she told me to go to the bathroom and come out when I'm ready.

There were people in the bathroom but I had already stopped crying. There was just snot, pain, and a red face left. I grabbed the shit brown wrapping paper meant for drying your hands and quickly blew my nose, trying to make my presence as invisible as possible, and ran back out to the classroom. I waited in the hall a bit with a new kind of guilt. And afraid guilt. I was worried I had taken too long, that I should be entering the classroom, but I wasn't prepared. I didn't want to be looked at. I didn't want to sit back down in my seat and continue a lesson that I wouldn't be able to listen to. But I didn't have to make the decision to go in myself, because the local empathetic janitors yelled at me to go into the room without looking at me.

I got the stares as I thought I would, and an big uncaring one from the teacher, as I sat down in my seat and again tried to become invisible to avoid the embarrassment of crying and looking the way I knew I did. A lot of insecurities came from the last two years in that school. I've grown out of that stage bit my bit for the last 4 years. I'm now going into highschool which will hopefully prove to be another improving year.

I've never told my parents, I don't feel as if neither me nor them are ready for it, and my twin sister knows a bit but I've never told the story like this. It feels nice to write this out somewhere where none of my close family members will be able to find it. The great cry I've had while writing this felt good too haha.

To anyone that can relate in any way to my story or this poem just know that you are not crazy, the feelings you are feeling are real. I do not suggest suffering in silence like I did. If I had just told those teachers that I didn't feel well, that I was constantly on the verge of crying, they would've come to the conclusion that I needed help. Don't be scared to tell an adult what is happening to you. If there is not a trustful parent or guardian around there are always help lines that will help you through. I had no excuse why I couldn't tell anyone other than being afraid. I'm not going to tell you not to be afraid, that's almost impossible, but you can speak, so use your voice to ask for help, no one else's.