“Call It What You Want”–Cam Isaacs

1st Place Poetry

 

I heard my friend say the other day that Angela died.

“Tragic,” he said.

Angela?  It’s funny, but I can barely picture her now.

All I can conjure up is some vague mass of a human with brown hair.

“Unexpected,” her family said.

Was that all? Was that everything about her?

It doesn’t matter, I guess.

She’s gone now.

“Sad,” her friends said.

The physical form is gone, and everyone will remember her differently.

I didn’t know her well, but someone said there

was a note. It said she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Uncharacteristic,” her teachers said.

What was there to take?

They said she had been abused.

“Pathetic,” those who hated her said.

Someone mentioned she had been depressed,

but no one thought it would get this bad.

“What a pity,” everyone else said.

She had scars on her arm, I remember now, but I bet

they were nothing compared to the scars on her mind.

“Understandable,” I said.