Art by Wen-JR
I can’t believe it. I’m tearing and writing at the same time.
I try to hold it back, but it keeps coming. I hate crying.
I hate trying. I’m writing this at work,
And they wonder why there’s tears pouring from the sales clerk.
I don’t want you to see me with this pen and paper.
I’m shaking. The tears make the ink misshapen.
It was like shattering glass when I heard her voice break.
When she told me “Every friend that you have is just fake”
“Mom, stop. Stop screaming, please.
What do you mean you won’t even pay for groceries,
and leave me to buy everything I need,
when my job only gives me 15 hours a week?
Mom, I’m on my knees. What do you want?
Stop staring daggers at your only son.
I obeyed when you said make good grades.
I’ve been so good to you. I have always behaved.”
She said, “don’t compare yourself to your friends. They’re low-lives.”
Those low-lives are the ones who gave me hope my whole life.
A cold life is what I’m left with after you messed with
my best friend. You distrust him. What of him?
I don’t know what’s worse. This or Hell?
When she says “I can’t wait to watch you fail.”
I leave. I’m driving with my eyes teary and red.
I keep thinking what it’d be like if I were dead.
And for the first time, the thought actually made me smile.
Just run off the road. It’ll be over in a short while.
All I have to do is just turn the wheel.
Run it into that building. It hurts to feel.
The radio sings “You don’t have to live like a refugee.”
I turn it up. Will someone please rescue me?
I never felt the need for a friend so strongly.
I never wanted to hold someone just to calm me.
All that’s in my head is my mom screaming.
This is worse than my nightmares. I can’t be dreaming.
Is it shameful to ask for a hug or to hold hands?
Because what she reduced me to is less than a man.
I want to be with someone. Anywhere but here.
Anyone but her. Anything but fear.
But what do I do if my friends are gone?
They’ve all moved on. I have no strength to go on.
I get to work. I smile, but it hurts to hold it.
It’s like it’s not me. It’s like my face is molded.
I keep thinking of skipping school tomorrow.
I’m thinking of someone else’s life I could borrow.
My soul’s never tried so hard to break free.
And I’ve never let it overwhelm me so easily.
Now I feel like shell. Just a walking mess.
With my mind gone, crushed, under all of the stress.
I usually don’t like to ask for people’s compassion.
But I feel like my whole world has literally crashed in.
I don’t know, I’ll probably just post this on the ‘net.
Maybe it’ll be the closest to someone I’ll ever get.
Mom. You know I love you.
But you know, you’re really pushing me to shove you.