POINTS TO BE NOTED

I enter my room, trying to comprehend what just happened. But something feels wrong. It is my tongue and throat. My tongue tastes rough and my throat is bitter. My throat feels trapped. I know it's coming, the fear, the wailing, the panting of what's about to come. I CAN'T BREATHE. I open the windows and let the air, and the light come in, but they refuse. My room is rotted, they say. There is nothing light and air can do now. The damage is done. I walk over to the wall that has so many memories. The hole in my chest widens. I am not able to breathe. I start gasping for air, but I fail. I try to rip my clothes, but my hands have given up. I try to tear my hair and hold onto it, but my head feels numb. I look at the pages of the novel on the wall. I still can't breathe. The next thing I know I am gasping and tearing the pages. I am destroying every memory, destroying any home that's left of me. I keep ripping till my head hurts. I walk back to see what mess I have created, a mess of the wall, a mess of me and my dreams. I need a hug. I need a hug so bad. But they won't hear me. I want to walk over and tell them, but they have loved and hated me which is so tragic.

I am breaking apart and not even metaphorically. I want to hurt myself. I look at the fan on the ceiling. I look at the blade on the shelf of my window. A selfish desire overcomes me. I want to leave them. I want to leave them with the ripped walls and the messed room and the notes and the journals and the tears and the wailings. A childhood fear comes to me, I start crying like I used to when I missed my grandmother. How I used to cry when kids at school made fun of me. How I used to cry when I felt unloved and lonely. The wind rolls in disappointment. The daffodils roll their eyes and stop humming. My head hurts till I can't even breathe. I try to use my own hands to pat myself and comfort myself, but my heart won't agree. My heart won't stop aching. I look at the door and no one knocks. I try to pinch myself and tell myself it, is shameful to sleep so much that you start dreaming weird things. but this is no dream. this is not even a beautiful lie.

The sky weeps after watching me. I try to lay down and sleep but my heart aches. I need my grandmother, but she is ill. I cry myself to sleep and when I wake up, no one has still been to my room. No one cares. It's all me. Birds have stopped chirping. Cars aren't moving. NO. trees aren't sprinting, the wind doesn't make any sound. The breaking of my heart makes the heavens and earth shake. I have suffered way too much to go quietly. Let a meteor take me, call the thunder for backup. the land will crack, and the sun will eat itself. My death will be grand. I won't forget to notify you when I leave. For now, let me mend my wall, let me tell myself

"I am proud of you. Thank you for being patient"

I want to ask all parents and guardians, what was obedience then if the ones who are consoling them are not even you people? What was parenting then? when all they needed was a hug and you started yelling at them?

What was fancy education then, when all your children ever thought about was how to die and survive each day?