There was a girl, not unlike me,
Who had depression, and OCD.
She went to school, and every day,
Had dreams of fun and games to play.
But every day, and every week,
Kids would laugh, and call her weak.
They beat her up and called her names,
And laughed as if it were a game.
At last the day came to an end,
But she still didn’t have a single friend.
She was alone, afraid and scared,
Left thinking that nobody cared,
So she grabbed a knife, and with the blade,
A small yet painful cut was made.
And yet still they joked and teased,
And laughed about the way she wheezed,
They thought the times they had were wild,
But yet forgot she was a child
She had become a mere joke,
And started to run out of hope,
She got home, cried, and closed her door,
So she took her blade and sliced once more.
And even then they carried on,
And said that they wished she were gone.
Left with nothing, and even less,
Left feeling like a hopeless mess,
She grabbed some rope and tied it tight,
And then she bid the world good night.