A grave was the backyard of school,
We learned everyday something new,
That someone new had died.
An inevitable death sentence.
The pressure imploding the very hearts,
Of those who deserved it least,
Because they had ugly clothes.
Or weird hair,
Or because they were ‘stupid’.
Nobody cares about a beautiful soul,
Not when they cry about it,
Or write about it,
Or cut about it.
They only care when another hole has been dug,
In the backyard.