A Silent Call for Help
Ugh. I feel so fat today.
What on earth is she wearing?
She’s really cute….
Is the dance this Friday?
These thoughts are not my own,
Yet they rattle through my head,
A silent conversation,
With hundreds of voices.
Oh God, I failed that test.
I hope he calls me tonight.
Where did Mr. Johnson go?
Did we have homework?
I pass by unnoticed,
My gaze on the tile floor,
Listening to a symphony,
Of words left unsaid.
Was Stacy at the party?
He probably has a girlfriend.
I just want to die.
This is really good coffee.
My eyes snap forward,
Sharply scanning the crowd,
Analyzing every face,
Every internal voice.
I can’t take this anymore.
I turn down the hallway,
In pursuit of a solitary figure,
Rushing through the crowd,
Notebooks clutched tightly.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I won't come back; I can’t.
No one’s going to miss me.
It doesn’t matter anyways.
The monologue grows stronger,
Louder above the chaos,
As I draw nearer to the source,
Of a silent cry for help.
Goodbye.
I push open the bathroom door,
Left unlocked in haste,
To a figure slumped against the wall,
Backpack tossed aside.
She stares at me with piercing eyes,
As I sit down beside her,
And in a rare instance my own voice,
Becomes loudest in my ears.
Do you want to talk?