Him Poem by dy.sin the writer

Him



i had planned to spike the punch
and watch old classmates throw up their lunch
and fall over their knees
dancing to music that told our age

i had planned to gather with old friends
who had to reintroduce themselves to me
because their faces were somewhat familiar
but their bodies had changed

and i pictured us all competing
for the best memory to discuss
digging up good times
and embarrassing moments of our prime
to thrust before an audience we trust
those considered 'good people' by us:

teachers, doctors and shrinks,
preachers, priests,
poets, soldiers, plumbers
and computer heads
all working to get ahead
five days of the week

people who, earlier in our lives,
didn't think to govern what we'd speak
and now…
and now
so many are buried six feet deep

they call me one of the lucky ones
and you,
who claim not to remember
despite the fact that we were both interviewed
by the press last november

on the anniversary of the day
the sky turned gray and rained
blood on our hands

you say that from where you stand
your hands have always been clean
and my description of the sky
and all the moments that transpired
lean a little to the left
for I haven't been as righteous
as yourself
as if you don't remember,
your part, your role...
...in making HIM

you say that HE must have slipped your mind,
or that i made it up
the madness,
the sadness, HIM
never really did know HIS name
perhaps, it was dillion, mark, or cho
or anything but the names we gave him,
'Good For Nothing. Slow.'

HE tried to tell us HIS name
but we said, 'no!
YOU are nothing.
no, YOU are less than nothing.'
you don't remember that? HIM?
HE was that skinny boy never picked for games,
the one that was so ashamed
for being left out
that HE backed out
and into the shadows
where he stood in the rain
so no one could tell he was crying wolf, you said

HE was the one that was disliked
for the sake that someone had to be disliked
in order for our circle to take flight

couldn't feel high
unless someone was underneath our wings
seems like we couldn't get by
unless we made fun of HIM
for the most trivial things

remember?

it was done to give us a sense of leverage
a hype to make us feel
like we were more than average
better than

So we'd stand
on HIM

HE was the one that every kid on the court laughed at
and even the wimpy ones fussed at
the slightly awkward
can't get right
don't fit in
because HE's trying too hard to be our friend
stumbling over HIS own two feet type
the one us kids called 'crazy freak'
like HIS mother hadn't given HIM a name

HE was the one who failed english class
because HE wouldn't speak
since you told HIM that every syllable HE had
was weak,
which is why HE remained silent and discreet about...
...well, you know what about
because I know you remember
you were there leading the pack
and i foolishly had your back
i bet, we were the main ones
HE was looking for during the attack

scrolling through the hallways
with his a-k loaded with rage,
and hurt,
and cold heart
because of our part
remember, just why they call us the lucky ones?

is it because we were absent the day
the students and faculty heard a mute scream?
lucky are we?
they say this unknowing the dead
haunts my dreams
'lucky, lucky, lucky, ' they say

i know you remember,
because i can never forget

Him
Saturday, November 26, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: america,bullying,high school,regret,revenge,shame,tragedy,tragic
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