Here’s the story
of five kids.
Two girls
and one boy.
And the only one
who will speak the truth.

Sadly, this is about me.
The one who speaks the truth.
A short-haired, short-figured girl
who has nothing to lose.
Maybe this should’ve been last,
but that’s where the best is.

Friends say I need to eat.
Friends say I need a hug.
Friends say I need to stop.
Friends say I’m too loud.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe I do need to stop.

I try to think that people care.
I try to make them believe that I care.
But when you hurt yourself,
doubt yourself,
or starve yourself,
It just makes me want to stop.

Everybody knows that I’m here for them.
The fifth,
the fourth,
the third,
the first.
But who’s there when I need to cry?

I try my best,
I really do.
But the only things you say are either
“Lizzie no”
Or
“Lizzie stop”

My only sense of help
Is the Internet and myself.
I promise I’ll be fine, my friends!
I love me, okay?
Why do you think I’m always up?
Why do you think I never have anything to say?

I swear I will eat.
I swear I will get a hug.
I swear I will stop.
I swear I will be quieter.
I swear I will stop hitting myself.
I swear I will respect myself more.
I swear I will protect you with everything I have.
I swear I will better myself for you.
I swear I will help you through this.
I swear I will listen to your problems.
I swear I will prove to you, once and for all, that I love you.
I swear I will not let anyone else fall because of me.

Are these promises to my friends...




or to myself?

Here’s the story
of five kids.
Two girls
and one boy.
And the only one
who will speak the truth.

Here’s the third.
An Italian boy.
He plays the cello, writes poems,
Watches anime and brags too much.
He seems rather confident,
But on the inside, he is not.

Much like the fourth,
he's depressed.
And much like the fifth,
he's insecure.
He doesn’t try to hide it, though.
E v e r y b o d y k n o w s.

He’s getting help.
He has been for years.
But it’s just been getting worse
and everyone can tell.
I wish I could guarantee
that he is not alone.

He knows I'm always there.
A shoulder to cry on.
A pillow to hug.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Never.
Not unless the first talks first.

He used to make me uncomfortable
because he was weird.
Now he just makes me uncomfortable
because of his touches.
But aside from that, he’s amazing.
And he thinks I am, too.

He calls me Dad
and the first Mom.
I don’t love him like a daughter though.
More like a brother.
We look like twins, anyway.
It was just a Fourth Grade joke.

I will protect this boy with everything I have.
I will better myself for him.
I will help him through this.
I will listen to him problems.
I will prove I love him.
I will not let anyone else fall because of me.

Here’s the story
of five kids.
Two girls
and one boy.
And the only one
who will speak the truth.

Next is the fourth.
A caramel haired girl.
She draws, she writes,
she reads and plays violin.
She’s rather two-faced,
but I know who she really is.

She's suicidal.
She's depressed.
Her family is Christian
and against her loving girlfriend.
All that leads up to
“the classic slicey-dicey!”

She thinks that no one cares.
She knows her parents don't.
She pours out her heart to me,
her wall, and her knife.
I wish I could help guarantee,
it'll all be okay.

She knows I'm always there.
Ready to listen.
Ready to care.
I’m upset she always thinks she’ll hurt me.
But in her defense,
she makes me worry.

I used to be jealous of her.
She used to be afraid of me.
But now she’s the dad I never had.
Caring.
Doesn’t make me cry.
Well, not in a bad way.

I call her Papa
And her girlfriend Mum.
I love them.
They love me.
At least...
I hope they do.

I will protect this girl with everything I have.
I will better myself for her.
I will help her through this.
I will listen to her problems.
I will prove I love her.
I will not let anyone else fall because of me.

You can be happy.
You can be sad.
But otherwise,
I’ll be watching.



Look to your left.

Can you smile for me?
Physically smile?
It’s fine if you can’t, but…
Then there’ll be two monsters in your closet.

Bright little things
Tiny like fireflies
They make me feel…happy
Happy little things

I look in the corner
There's a man in a chair
He stares at me, smiling weirdly
I smile back, waving happily