"i'm not sad"
she says as she wakes up.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she smiles with her friends.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she jokes with the teachers.
"i'm not sad"
she says as all the boys fall for her.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she cries alone in her room.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she touches the blade to her flawless skin.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she swollows another pill.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she slowly ties the rope.
"i'm not sad"
she says as she takes her last breath.
"she wasn't sad"
they say as they walk past her casket.
-k.d.
YOU ARE READING
life as we know it
PoetryBeing a poet is like being really sick. But instead of vomit, words come out. This is my word vomit.