What's So Funny?

This piece describes me more than anything I've ever written. I've experienced these things and that's where the inspiration came from. It's a poem for the silent majority.

Everyday, I hear people laugh

at depression, at bullying.

I hear people treat it like a joke,

or I hear people pretend

to have it to somehow make themselves more “cute”.

I’m here to ask you,

what’s so funny?

 

What’s so funny about a kid that wakes up

every morning feeling worthless?

What’s so funny about a kid who

has bruises and cuts

 all over their legs and arms

from them beating themselves up for being

stupid?

Tell me, what’s so funny

about a kid that tried and tried

to end their life

but couldn’t

because the ambulance would always get there too soon?

 

Why do you tell those kids�"

those kids that hide by their locker,

or in the bathroom

crying, everyday,

that their problems are fictional?

What’s fictional about it?

 

Their problems are so real,

they get sent to hospitals

because the schools think it’s beyond

professional help.

Now, because they’ve seen the horrors

behind hospital walls,

they’re too scared to go for professional help,

or they now believe that

the mental hospitals are where they belong.

 

There is nothing funny about depression.

It’s an all out war that hundreds and hundreds

die to.

Hundreds and hundreds that fought it so long

that they physically couldn’t fight anymore.

 

I’ve dealt with depression in the past.

I’m still dealing with it now.

What I am telling you is that it’s not a joke;

it’s not something that should be taken lightly.

 

It’s darkness.

A blanket that covers you with emotions

so negative that it makes you burst into tears.

It’s a thick and heavy sheet

that suffocates you,

getting you lost in its folds so that

when you give up with finding the end of it,

you die.

 

It takes your breath away,

but not in the way where you smile�"

no, no�"

we’re talking in the way where you panic

because you can’t find air.

Where you grip the table you’re sitting at,

coughing and coughing up something

that’s not there.

It takes your last sense of sunshine,

killing every flower you ever had

in your field of happiness.

 

It chases away anyone who could ever help you.

Your family, your friends

It bites their toes if they come near you;

telling them, “Get back, they’re mine”

and you’ll never get them back.”

Making them so scared for you,

they lose hope.

 

Which is why you have to cut it out.

Cut out the jokes,

the name-calling.

 

“Emo”.

Do you know what that means?

Emotional.

And emotional is damn right because

these kids had to face through so much;

having family

or friends

betray their trust when they were young,

having to have dealt with kids pulling their hair,

shoving them against doors,

scratching them or kicking them;

having them see their parents fight day after day

because of drug abuse or alcoholism.

Having to hear them call each other worthless.

 

They’re emotional because there’s a rope

that’s around their neck

and the more they try to run away,

the tighter it gets.

They’re emotional because they’ve been called

worthless, skanky, f****t, and stupid

all their lives

that they’ve grow to believe it.

 

Depression is a face carved with scars

and covered with a porcelain mask;

with her poison lips

and hair so long it goes for miles,

with its strands grabbing you tight

and pulling you into its black lake,

causing you to drown.

 

The joking and bullying needs to stop

and it needs to stop now.

Saying their issues aren’t real

needs to be put to an end.

 

When you see a kid suffering from depression,

don’t laugh.

Instead, offer your hand.

Take a step towards them and if it tries to bite your toes

that’s okay, keep trying.

Let it know that you’re not afraid.

 

Don’t tell them they’re beyond reach.

Don’t call them freaks or attention seekers,

because maybe that’s what they need;

attention.

Attention from those who might possibly understand.

Attention from those outside

the thick cloud that fills their lungs and veins.

 

Show them they’re not alone.

 

Help them.

Author's Note

This is completely irrelevant, but the word I have to type into the security box is pig face. I find this extremely amusing.