*In the body of the girl*

As I sit at my desk
You watch me
You see the pain in my eyes
You see the bruises on my arms
The cuts on my wrist
You bow your head in shame
Knowing that you are partly the reason
The bell rings
And I walk out of class
You follow closely behind me
But not too close
I pass the lunch room to a secluded spot
You see me looking in my bag
And I pull out a knife
As I pull up my sleeve
You wonder why no one notices
I pull the blade across my upper arm
And the blood oozes
You see me smiling
I whisper joyous pain
As I put the knife away
You hide so I don’t notice you
I walk past you and into the lunch room
I sit at a table alone
The others point and laugh
They comment my dress and weight
They comment my hair
They don’t see the pain in my eyes that you see
They don’t see the bruises or the cuts
The day passes
And you observe me more
Walking home you stay a distance from me
I go into my house
You go into yours
You wonder why I cut and where the bruises come from
You hear yelling from the house next to you
Running to your bedroom window you see me
Up against a wall crying in fear
My father yelling at me
You see him hit and grab me
You see him rape me
You see him hit me again
Finally you have had enough
And you look away
Answering your question
I cut because of the pain of my father
I cut because the pain of being picked on
The bruises from my father
You hear a gun shot
You look through the window
You see me lying on the floor
The gun in my hand
 You run to my house and walk through the door
My father passed out on the floor…drunk
Running up the steps and to my room
You hold me close as I die slowly
I read your eyes and whisper…
“This isn’t your fault.”
You run your hand along the fresh cuts to the wound in my chest
You bow your head and whisper goodbye
I hear sirens and your sobs
I put my hand in yours
And I die.


*In the body of the guy*

Walking up to the podium of the auditorium
I clear my throat and say the following:

“It’s our fault that she died.
Not one of us realized the pain.
Not one of us realized the cuts and bruises.”

I point to the students.

“You made fun of her dress.
You made fun of her hair.
You called her names and put her down.
She cut because no one reached out to her.
You bullied her and made her pain worse.
Her father beat her and raped her.
Not one of you could simply say hi to her.
Not one of you could simply ask ‘Are you okay?’
Not even I.
We need to stop bullying.
We need to reach out.
Or someone will end up like her”

I point to the teachers.

“You need to pay attention to your students more closely.
Look what happened to her.”

I walk off the stage.
I hear sobs out of the silence.
I look up and hope I saved some lives.
I remember your words
…joyous pain…
And a tear runs down my cheek.

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