Words

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To hear, if only I could hear. To hear those words so soft and fruitful. To hears such
words when I am youthful. Time goes by and so does this rhyme, but riddle me this,
why are the equality of my rights denied? I see the others they're all there. They do
not worry, they do not care. They have not want, they have not need, so they are like
the nymphs sleeping as trees.

Words, those words. Why is it those words they are saying?
Do you accept this game we are playing? This trick of cards, this strip, this tease.

No, you wouldn't understand anything past your own greed.
The greed in others the greed in their eyes, they will bury you as do the tides.

A smirk, a smile, disabled you say?

Well we're going to you ignore you some more anyway. "Bipolar? Mental Illness?
That makes you sick! Stay away from me freak, you need to get a grip.
It's all in your head.", that's what they say, but never does the conversation go the
other way. A hand, a hand, a reach, a simple stranger standing, a teacher whom was
standing on the landing.

"Don't worry." He told me with the deepest of smiles.

I looked at him really quite confused. A man, a teacher, not playing by the rules?
Does he not know this game and how it shall end? With me being ridiculed, called a
disgrace, and then left.

Nervous, of course, as he smiles kindly. I wonder if he knows inside I'm dying.
Should I take this chance? Is this my escape? Or is it just a cruel trick of fate? No.
No, it is not, I decide. He seems genuine and I'm starting to cry.

We chat in the lobbyand I fill him in. All about my life. The mess it has been.
How I never wanted or asked for this illn ess and why did it had to be me?

It could have been Curtis, or Anna, or Sean. My family history apparently does
matter and he tells me the students will be lectured for nicknaming me,

"The Mad Hatter."

He calls up my parents and I feel I might choke. The world is spinning, maybe I
should write my last note. He finished his phone call and then looked at me.

He looked sad. Is he frightened of the real me?
I was not happy, I was not sad, I was nothing, I was a sham. Later that week we met
with my parents and we discuss my self-destructive habits. I start counseling and
though people have joked, I feel a bit less tight in the back of my throat.

We all had an assembly the following day. Words were spoken that will never go away.

We were taught about mental illness and how not to judge.
They spoke about kindness and treating everyone like someone you love.
My eyes fill with tears after it is all through. I no longer felt like the exhibit at the zoo.

Within the next years and the ongoing months, we continued to study and learn enough
is enough. How people are people and no matter what we see, there is a heart with
feelings inside, yes; even me.

We're off to college now we've learned here all we can. We're about to go out into a
marvelous new land. I am now stable and a fresh bright eighteen. I remember back
in second year when I was called the "Psychopath's Dream". I clear out my locker,
for the last time and think of the memories of waiting during lunch in line.
How that teacher had been so nice to me. It seems like we haven't talked in eternity.

I go to greet him, well, more like to say goodbye. I smile a sad smile, but feel happy
inside.

"Thank you." I tell him and stare into his eyes.

"If it weren't for your words I would not still be alive."

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