Mon, 03/02/2015 - 20:41 -- brea18


A boy named Evan, happy as could be
Or so it seemed
No one understood, no one could see,
the darkness lurking beneath
As an outsider looking in,
everything seemed perfect
Until that grave September night
That shattered the image of perfection
A million pieces became embedded,
like shrapnel,
In everyone's hearts
Stuck, never to be removed
His memory will never be forgotten
Others are not as lucky
They take their lives
never to have their name uttered again
The misfits, the weirdos, the bullied,
they disappear in the wind
Pain that shall never be felt by the boy who was popular
The pain of being forgotten
So now we are #evanstrong
When will we be #suicidenomore

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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