First it’s my Dad, he’s yelling at me;
I’m not good enough; I need to be better;
Can he not see?
Then my mom tells me I’m no good,
She tells me I’m a waste of life, if she could kill me; she would.
My brother makes fun and calls me names;
Can’t he see I’m too depressed for these childish games?
My friends are fake, always telling me how to get better;
If I could only be like them,
But I’m always “Under the weather.”
My grandma tells me how much potential I have,
She says it will be nothing though because I’m so bad.
These thoughts go off like bombs in my head;
Somehow I know;
I’m better off dead.
-DSH
