People talk,
People take risks, make mistakes,
People die.
And you were never friends anyway,
But you still grieve—
You grieve the potential
And you grieve because they grieve,
Because you were cursed to empathize with them—
The fat kids,
The weird kids,
Eating lunch alone on the floor in the hallway,
Dragging razors across their dry skin,
And hiding the scars under their sleeves.
When they show you they’ll be called attention-seeking,
But you’ll understand,
You’ll relate so much it’s painful,
And it’s worse because in your heart you know exactly who and what you are—
And they’ll talk (you’ll listen),
They’ll make mistakes (so will you),
They’ll die (you’ll grieve),
And one day,
(you’ll realize)
You’re all the same.
Author’s Note:
I wrote this in my poetry journal last summer after a complicated freshman year and upsetting summer. People are so quick to judge and point out differences, but at the end of the day, we’re all the same, right?
