Nicole

Time to raise the white flag, her voice never heard
Lengthened by fear until she could no longer bear
Forced smiles be gone, lost eyes no more
Rest, young woman, desolate days no more

Too low to know
Too pained to try
Use her and abuse her
And then walk away

Care a bit more
And she might still be around
Treat her more than a number
And she might be more than a stat

A fair chance to all, use it as you will
Glanced over once, she seemed so disinterested
Looked over again; maybe there is something more
Passed by completely, God she seemed sad

She was right when she said you’ll be sorry
She was right when she thought no one seemed to care
She was right when she pictured a life so bleak 
She was wrong when she said this was all her fault

This limp body she is, just flesh and bone remain
This sight so serene, deathless for sure
Too young, too beautiful to have been held hostage for so long
Remembered for who she won’t be more than who she ever was

Too down to understand
Too alone to care
Try her and deny her
And then let her be

Stand and take notice
It might have changed her outlook
A light pat on the back?
It might have helped in ways that we’ll never know

Welcome this young woman, Kingdom above
Guide her and love her and teach her your ways
Keep her smiling and safe; we failed her down below
Hug her and kiss her, give her a place to call home

She was right when she said you’ll be sorry
She was right when she said she shouldn’t feel so helpless
She was right when she thought these people should take notice
She was wrong when she said that this was all her fault

I wrote this poem in a single evening. It might have been the quickest poem I ever wrote, start to finish. It was about a sophomore girl at the high school I taught at. Her name was Nicole, and she killed herself one school evening by asphyxiation. I never met Nicole, but I taught quite a few of her friends. Her death came before the advent of Facebook and really text messaging, so I taught some of her friends literally hours, minutes after learning of her death. She committed suicide in November, roughly nine or ten weeks into the school year. I remember looking at her class schedule to see who her teachers were in case one of her teachers was a friend. I felt I could offer a note of condolence to that teacher. She had one teacher in particular who had missed one or two days every week during the start of that school year. In fact, she was on short-term disability leave with a back injury when Nicole died. This teacher had a long history of lying and cheating the system. And I remember thinking that this teacher probably did not even know who Nicole was. And I began to wonder if this teacher who was supposed to be a presence in Nicole's life wasn't there as she was supposed to be, which other people in Nicole's life had let her down. Perhaps none of them. Perhaps all of them. More likely something in between. As much as we try to understand suicide, we cannot. Whether there were signs that she was depressed or suicidal, I do not know. What I do is that this beautiful, athletic, smart young woman felt so helpless in her life that she could not go on. I wondered and wondered how she could have reached this point in her life. To this day, when I try to imagine what she must have felt like on that fatal night, I shudder. I also shudder at the idea that I could have just as easily been her teacher. I wonder what I might have gone through and if I would have felt guilt. Though I never had a conversation with Nicole, I wanted her and all young people in my school to know that help should be available. No matter how dire the situation may be, there should be people in this world who can sense your pain. As much as this poem is a tribute to Nicole, it is also a straight condemnation at this one teacher self-indulging teacher clearly showed Nicole and all of her other students that they were not important to her.

Written in 2005

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser