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Poem for Kole

February 22, 2014

There was this kid in my Spanish 1 class last semester, named Kole. He was interesting. He wore these band tee shirts, like Asking Alexandria, Sleeping with Sirens, Pierce the Veil, and Suicide Silence. Kole wore a lot of black, I only saw him wear a blue striped polo once. He wore skinny jeans, which my mother seemed to question.
Kole and I never spoke except for a few uttered words, like when I complemented his tee shirts.
There was one day when he came to class late, he slammed his stuff down, sat down, and laid his head on the table. He was crying.
What hurts me most looking back, is that this happened twice, and no one said a word. I ask myself why didn’t, I always make up an excuse like, “he was too far away” or “his girlfriend probably packs a knife.”
Instead of saying any thing, I wrote him a poem. Granted, he never read it, because I never handed it to him.
It stays in my notebook waiting.
The time has come.
A Poem For Kole (From His Seat)
I’m a seat,
I see a lot of buts
Ands, Ors,
Apologies scribbled on scraps of paper,
F-bombs carved into my surface next to anarchy symbols
And so much more.
I don’t think I’ve
Ever seen a face
So broken.
You sit
In so much pain.
So much hate.
Your tears wash my surface, I hear
Your breathing,
Heavy and torn.
They all must see. But they don’t,
At least, they don’t say,
A word.
If I could, I would say so much.
“Sorry” and “Be okay.”
But
You
Don’t
Either.

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