Not once in her life has she smiled for real.
The scars, the marks. They were all hidden under that smile.
She cried alone in her room, yet danced and giggled at class.
Boys and friends kept her alive for seventeen long years.
None did see the forgotten love and the lonely tears.
Long, cold, hungry nights were covered by long sleeves and diet excuses
Friends worried, parents cried.
February Seventeenth was the day of the call.
The night before she was found, pills spilled and a gun in hand.
They said she wanted to die twice.
They said they didn’t understand.
They found a note.
A long written note, filled with hatred and despair.
Friends lost a friend, sisters lost a sister, and parents lost a daughter.
Lovers lost a lover.
Enemies lost the one they secretly loved.
I lost the one who I’ve lived with my whole life.
The one who told me I could survive middle school.
The one who came with me my first day of high school.
She was the one who shared blood with the world.
She was my best friend.
To this day, I still wear that cheap Clair’s cupcake necklace which read “Best”
On her funeral, she wore “Friends” around her neck.
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