Categories > Original > Poetry
It’s the first day of high school for Annabelle Jones, and she is terrified. She was always picked on and made fun of in elementary and middle school. No one ever believed in her. Not her family, she had no friends, unless you count teachers. She didn’t even believe in herself.
Annabelle, or Anna for short, is a seemingly normal enough girl. Not fat, but no bones were showing. A’s and B’s all her life. Never spoke out of turn. She kind of just faded into the background.
She had a friend in elementary school, but she moved away and was unable to see her anymore. They were basically the same person, they did everything together. Anyway, back to high school. She walked through the front door to see what she percieves as a million people staring at her, even though no one probably even saw her.
She feels nervous. Not only is she a freshman, but she has just moved here from Tennessee. She doesn’t know anyone. She has awful people skills. She has never had a boyfriend. Teachers rush by, paying no mind whatsoever. She begins walking in the same spot she will for the rest of her highschool career; right by the wall. This will become the only place she feels comfortable.
She clutches her schedule in her arms, and heads to her first class. French?! She is a country girl, she doesn’t know Spanish, let alone french! Well, here she goes.
She is already lost and she hasn’t been here more than five minutes. Some senior came up and asked her if she was lost. Well of course she isn’t going to answer him, she is a complete hick! He directs her to the end of the hall, gave her a series of right’s and left’s, and said to go upstairs. Now, this was a big school, but there surely isn’t an upstairs.
She finally got to her class as soon as the bell rang(it wasn’t upstairs). “Bonjour mes amies!” The French teacher greeted them and started rambling in what Annabelle assumed was French. She thought she was going to die. There was one boy who was having what seemed like an intelligent conversation with this teacher in this alien language. Oh, god. Hello highschool.
The rest of the day went similarly. She told her name and charecteristics of herself eight times. She tried to keep a low voice so no one would notice her accent. So far, so good. Then there was lunch. Oh yes, the thirty minutes of time that could either be the best or worst of your day. Of course, Annabelle sat alone…In the corner. She couldn’t eat today. Especially not alone. Well, one day of hell is over, only four more years to go.
When she got home, it got even better.
“Where the HELL have you been?”Her mother boomed when she got home at 3:15.
“School, mom.”Anna calmly replied to her fuming mother.
“School? School?! What? School ended half an hour ago!”
Annabelle knew agruing any further was futile.
“Sorry, mom. It won’t happen again.”
She moped down to her room in hopes that her mom would be asleep soon. She plopped down on the floor, feeling unworthy of a bed. She turned her radio on in hopes that it would drown out her crying. She has always had a problem with crying in front of people. Her mom said it made her weak.
She doesn’t know why she’s crying, she just knows that she is and she can’t stop. She has no reason to feel like this. She isn’t mistreated(anymore), at least she has a mom, she gets an education. So, what’s her problem? Some people say she only wants attention. Well, how is that possible when all she does is hide?
Oh, well. People will be people, and she doesn’thave to deal with them forever. She starts a list. She has made many before, but none like this. This one has meaning. This one has power. She feels as if it can help.
Now, one might ask what this list, made by a fourteen year old crying about her life, could possibly be. What could it help? Well… Nothing. She would only become another number somewhere. Another statistic. She knows that, but her lists make her feel better. Writing down all her reasons to do what she has been trying not to for so long. Some call her whiney. Wouldn’t you be, too? Imagine every second of every day filled with pain. 31,536,000 seconds of wanting to die, wanting to stop, wanting it to end. 31 million seconds of wanting to be someone, anyone, else. Over a year of wanting to escape for just one of those seconds. These lists help her remember why.
What is on this list of hers? Well, that, my friends, is a secret. She writes them, and burns them. One would wonder what she expects to help if she won’t ask her help. Usually, normal people ask for help with any problem they may be faced with. So, why doesn’t she? The answer is that she has. She has pleaded with her words and begged with her eyes. They all turned their backs.
What awful people. Who would ignore this young girl with so much to give and such a good life ahead of her? That’s simple. Everyone. Yes. Everyone. Every single last person she has ever met. Now, you’re thinking, “No, I would help this girl. I want her to be happy.” Do you believe that? Really? She doesn’t.
This girl, a freshman in highschool, walked the halls of school a ghost. Every day was worse than the one before. Sure, she made”friends”. People that turned to her with their silly problems. But those were just the people she didn’t have the heart to turn away. Her group of friends made their little groups of friends and she faded into the background. Ha! A misfit in a group of misfits. Lovely. Days crept by. No list. A week. Nothing. Is she getting better? Not one bit. Halfway through her junior year, Annabelle hasn’t made a list.
A normal say of school followed by an average day at home. She walks into her room, puts on loud music, gets some paper, and begins to write.
“With all of my love,
I sincerely apoligize for what I am about to do, but it must be done. Sorry for mom, who I love, sorry for dad, who I miss, sorry for friends I never really had. Here’s my last list:
My walks, alone in the hall.
The words that I hear.
The people in my head, wishing I was dead.
My broken heart that no one wished to fix.
The smiling face I put on every day.
My abusive family I never spoke a word against.
Scars I can’t begin to count.
Tears I can no longer shed.
This goes out to all of you, sleeping in your beds. Out at parties, having fun. This is for you, everyone who wishes they had a gun. Sitting up at night, just as I do. Hopefully this takes some pain away from you. I wish you’re one day accepted and loved, but this day, this last day, all I have to say is:
Don’t give in.
All these years, I have done nothing. I’m a waste. I promised I would make it through the new year.
All those nights, mom saying I don’t eat enough. Of all my problems, she picks the one I don’t want to fix. I tried for under 300 a day. Never, ever, EVER over 500. No one knew. Blood. I tried for 3 a day. One for every hundred, as punishment.
No more! My life is getting nowhere, and I don’t care to see if I’m wrong. Happy fucking newyear’s.
Her mom didn’t notice she was dead until her school called, asking why she had missed the last week. She went into her daughter’s room, prepared to have a fit. She found a note on the bed and her daughter on the floor.
Annabelle, or Anna for short, is a seemingly normal enough girl. Not fat, but no bones were showing. A’s and B’s all her life. Never spoke out of turn. She kind of just faded into the background.
She had a friend in elementary school, but she moved away and was unable to see her anymore. They were basically the same person, they did everything together. Anyway, back to high school. She walked through the front door to see what she percieves as a million people staring at her, even though no one probably even saw her.
She feels nervous. Not only is she a freshman, but she has just moved here from Tennessee. She doesn’t know anyone. She has awful people skills. She has never had a boyfriend. Teachers rush by, paying no mind whatsoever. She begins walking in the same spot she will for the rest of her highschool career; right by the wall. This will become the only place she feels comfortable.
She clutches her schedule in her arms, and heads to her first class. French?! She is a country girl, she doesn’t know Spanish, let alone french! Well, here she goes.
She is already lost and she hasn’t been here more than five minutes. Some senior came up and asked her if she was lost. Well of course she isn’t going to answer him, she is a complete hick! He directs her to the end of the hall, gave her a series of right’s and left’s, and said to go upstairs. Now, this was a big school, but there surely isn’t an upstairs.
She finally got to her class as soon as the bell rang(it wasn’t upstairs). “Bonjour mes amies!” The French teacher greeted them and started rambling in what Annabelle assumed was French. She thought she was going to die. There was one boy who was having what seemed like an intelligent conversation with this teacher in this alien language. Oh, god. Hello highschool.
The rest of the day went similarly. She told her name and charecteristics of herself eight times. She tried to keep a low voice so no one would notice her accent. So far, so good. Then there was lunch. Oh yes, the thirty minutes of time that could either be the best or worst of your day. Of course, Annabelle sat alone…In the corner. She couldn’t eat today. Especially not alone. Well, one day of hell is over, only four more years to go.
When she got home, it got even better.
“Where the HELL have you been?”Her mother boomed when she got home at 3:15.
“School, mom.”Anna calmly replied to her fuming mother.
“School? School?! What? School ended half an hour ago!”
Annabelle knew agruing any further was futile.
“Sorry, mom. It won’t happen again.”
She moped down to her room in hopes that her mom would be asleep soon. She plopped down on the floor, feeling unworthy of a bed. She turned her radio on in hopes that it would drown out her crying. She has always had a problem with crying in front of people. Her mom said it made her weak.
She doesn’t know why she’s crying, she just knows that she is and she can’t stop. She has no reason to feel like this. She isn’t mistreated(anymore), at least she has a mom, she gets an education. So, what’s her problem? Some people say she only wants attention. Well, how is that possible when all she does is hide?
Oh, well. People will be people, and she doesn’thave to deal with them forever. She starts a list. She has made many before, but none like this. This one has meaning. This one has power. She feels as if it can help.
Now, one might ask what this list, made by a fourteen year old crying about her life, could possibly be. What could it help? Well… Nothing. She would only become another number somewhere. Another statistic. She knows that, but her lists make her feel better. Writing down all her reasons to do what she has been trying not to for so long. Some call her whiney. Wouldn’t you be, too? Imagine every second of every day filled with pain. 31,536,000 seconds of wanting to die, wanting to stop, wanting it to end. 31 million seconds of wanting to be someone, anyone, else. Over a year of wanting to escape for just one of those seconds. These lists help her remember why.
What is on this list of hers? Well, that, my friends, is a secret. She writes them, and burns them. One would wonder what she expects to help if she won’t ask her help. Usually, normal people ask for help with any problem they may be faced with. So, why doesn’t she? The answer is that she has. She has pleaded with her words and begged with her eyes. They all turned their backs.
What awful people. Who would ignore this young girl with so much to give and such a good life ahead of her? That’s simple. Everyone. Yes. Everyone. Every single last person she has ever met. Now, you’re thinking, “No, I would help this girl. I want her to be happy.” Do you believe that? Really? She doesn’t.
This girl, a freshman in highschool, walked the halls of school a ghost. Every day was worse than the one before. Sure, she made”friends”. People that turned to her with their silly problems. But those were just the people she didn’t have the heart to turn away. Her group of friends made their little groups of friends and she faded into the background. Ha! A misfit in a group of misfits. Lovely. Days crept by. No list. A week. Nothing. Is she getting better? Not one bit. Halfway through her junior year, Annabelle hasn’t made a list.
A normal say of school followed by an average day at home. She walks into her room, puts on loud music, gets some paper, and begins to write.
“With all of my love,
I sincerely apoligize for what I am about to do, but it must be done. Sorry for mom, who I love, sorry for dad, who I miss, sorry for friends I never really had. Here’s my last list:
My walks, alone in the hall.
The words that I hear.
The people in my head, wishing I was dead.
My broken heart that no one wished to fix.
The smiling face I put on every day.
My abusive family I never spoke a word against.
Scars I can’t begin to count.
Tears I can no longer shed.
This goes out to all of you, sleeping in your beds. Out at parties, having fun. This is for you, everyone who wishes they had a gun. Sitting up at night, just as I do. Hopefully this takes some pain away from you. I wish you’re one day accepted and loved, but this day, this last day, all I have to say is:
Don’t give in.
All these years, I have done nothing. I’m a waste. I promised I would make it through the new year.
All those nights, mom saying I don’t eat enough. Of all my problems, she picks the one I don’t want to fix. I tried for under 300 a day. Never, ever, EVER over 500. No one knew. Blood. I tried for 3 a day. One for every hundred, as punishment.
No more! My life is getting nowhere, and I don’t care to see if I’m wrong. Happy fucking newyear’s.
Her mom didn’t notice she was dead until her school called, asking why she had missed the last week. She went into her daughter’s room, prepared to have a fit. She found a note on the bed and her daughter on the floor.
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