Bessemerskolan - ett vidare val!

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Av Maya Sjöstedt

“HELP”, the girl screams:

The one, standing there on the sidewalk watching the ruins of her own town, watching her teddy bear stuck under pieces of her own childhood home, not seeing her mother, not seeing anything, but crying faces and lost people searching, searching, searching: never finding.

Her tears feels like the bombs falling down around her: ripping her in half and she screams for help, but the TV only display the latest episode of Keeping up with the Kardashian a 100-miles away.

“HELP”, that person prays:

The one that is too tired to lift up your heavy burdens, but you pile on every little piece of you until you’re free: until you’re light again.

And she bleeds, her whole body is leaking, but you tell her to cover it up: to not be so disgusting. So, she saw her face into smiles and learn to hide her female anatomy.

Stabbing nails into palms and mouthing screams into her pillow. With wires lingering around her veins when she moves. Mind full of bugs trying to claw their way out.

Laughing, as all her friends stare down at their phones, snapping pictures to each other saying: “Streaks” and “Like my latest Instagram post”.

“HELP”, someone hears too late:

When roses are parading the streets and heads are hung in apathy.

When there are holes in their souls.

When silent screams echoes through empty bodies: shaking back and forth.

When hands are brought together and hugs are shared for the first time in forever.

When the church bell rings a sad melody and the shops are empty.

When ashes are spread and candles are lit.

When a father loses his daughter, when a mother loses her son, when a grandfather loses his grandchild, when a life is taken too young.