Funny Guy

Funny Guy

A Poem by Autotype
"

Everyone knows guy who''s never down, no matter what, or so it seems. Does anyone ever actually think about their story?

"

Funny Guy

He was ten when his parents split.


It wasn’t quick;
It wasn’t merciful;
Hate, it seemed, was a word
That thoroughly described this relation.


Sorrow painted his face
Over the next year;
This timid, once-shy soul
Suddenly forced hard and cold.


But he learned to cope,
Like all humans do:
Adapt.
But what environment was he to take on?


School, it seemed,
Was his top competitor.
Ruthless was its waves,
Cold were its waters.


And yet he tread them
With a simple trick:
Although small and nerdy,
He became the ‘Funny Guy’.


No one would question his life
As another year would pass;

Twelve was he, now,
And the callus that surrounded him


Broke.


Shattered as a remnant of too much
On a kid, who was timid and shy,
Who made good grades and cried
If he ever disappointed anyone.


Twelve years old,

And he tried to hang himself.

For an hour, he lay on his cot,
Sorrow filling every ounce of his being.

For an hour, he stared at a piece of rope,
Tied in a simple yet effective noose.

But the vanity of life wasn’t what he wanted,
Nor what he expected,

And he knew that there was only
One way out.

So he slid his head through the loop;
Tied it on the top of his fan;

Remained immobile on the ladder of his bunk
Crying as he made his choice.

Mercy.

All his life, he showed mercy to people:

Deep down, this was coming out again.
The mercy, as a final point to walk to,
A final barrier between him and death.

And it saved him.


His past mercy for others
Proved effective this day:
It saved his life,
But left his soul in a darker place.


And three more hellish years passed,
Without another incident like that.
No one knew of what happened;
No one would ever know.


Fifteen he is, now,
And hate is a common word.
He fights his brother- bloody fist fights
That end only when the mother intervenes.


And as anger takes the lad again,
He bursts from the house,
Misunderstood for his taking,
And rests behind a car.


“I wish someone would listen in,”
Says he,
“I wish that someone would actually care.”
Tears stream down his face.


But no one will hear his pleas
As his mind casts back;
Back to a memory
Of a noose and a choice.


And yet everyone on Earth who he has met
Will meet him and think,
“Wow, what a happy person!”
When in reality, he casts this illusion.


Tricks himself so that he won’t give up.
Tricks himself so that others won’t see the truth.
When the truth is actually quite clear:
He


Isn’t


Happy.


As he contemplates the words,
He realizes that he’s finally
Found the truth.
No one will ever help him.


He’s cast this illusion all too well.

No one would ever take a second look,
As they pass and say to themselves,


“What a funny guy”

© 2016 Autotype


Author's Note

Autotype
This is based on my life. Tell me what you think, but don't worry, I won't kill myself over a negative review :)

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Added on July 24, 2016
Last Updated on July 24, 2016
Tags: sadness, poetry, truth

Author

Autotype
Autotype

Lol Town, TX



About
Hm, something about myself? Now that's a hard one- what defines the human by simply describing stuff about you? I could say that I enjoy climbing mountains- but what's the motive? I could enjoy climbi.. more..