One day, I was walking home from my classes
In the streets was a little boy being beat up for wearing big glasses
I kept walking, my head low in fear of being hurt myself
The next day, that boy died because he was depressed
The 3 kids who hurt him thought that they were just joking around
They didn’t know that he always felt down
A few weeks passed and I saw a girl being teased
The kids making fun of her laughed and continued bullying
They didn’t know that the scars on her body
Were because of her alcoholic father who beat her every morning
I walked passed them slowly, my feet scratching the ground
I wasn’t sure whether or not to turn around
A month later I witnessed teenage boys in cars taunt a kid carrying books
They chased him around, laughing at his ‘nerdy’ appearance and looks
None of them knew that he was trying to be the first in his family to go to college
I turned to stare and his eyes pleaded because I had him acknowledged
But I kept walking slow, upset that I didn’t help
What could I do? Myself getting hurt isn’t good for my health
Two months had passed and a small girl got her journal snatched out of her hands
She was holding back tears, desperately trying to be the bigger man
They laughed at her diary, snorting at everything she said
Unaware that she wrote about her daddy in the military, hoping that each night he went to bed
I ran home pass the girl and into my room, sobbing hard
Four people were hurt in front of me and I played them like cards
The next day, a boy pushed me into the streets
Calling me a freak
The boy with glasses, the scarred girl, and the diary writer strolled right by me
Each of them stared, and I felt pain as the boy shoved me against a tree
The three kids who I abandoned began to turn
But they then threw the boy off of me and looked at me with concern
Shocked and speechless, I had no words to say
They were better people than I could be in 1000 days
A year later I saw two girls get their books taken away
Without even thinking, I ran to their bullies, screaming, “Hey!”