Voices: -Loud, but soft. Criminal, but just. Life, and death. Death is sorrow, Life is good. But sometimes I think the other way around. I wish better for you young child. That you will not have to learn, How to fight, What is right, And how to survive, Until you are 21. But because of the past. They leave us with you, and bid adieu. So I will shield you from the world’s harm. I will bare my arms, To keep your innocence safe. And not to forget, That heroes don’t always. Wear capes- -Hannah Robinett She had wrote it. But never seemed to have a voice, she always was holding her throat. Feeling the scar she got from herself. Why had she done it? She had only been six. -Insanity seems so sane. In a world like ours today. It seems so kind and just and right, Than what we are told is fine. I wish that a day a year, I could sit and pray. That we would all be okay. Is that insane? That the people who lie and drink and steal? Don’t seem to feel? The ways they hurt the ones around them, Do they feel remorse? For the pain they cause? Or the way a politician forgets he’s human. So he hurts the people who are innocent. What a crazy world I see today, To want to be insane. To forget everything I’ve seen, Because of a man I do not know. Locking me in my home makes it impossible to have free will. What became of our rights? Why do I hide in fear? When the only thing to fear is myself. I am my worst enemy, I am evil inside. The way I think is sin, I am imperfect and will never be more. Then why do I mourn? I always believed monsters had claws and jagged teeth, Those were just in movies. The real monsters sit on thrones, Monarchs. The real monsters sit in chairs, Dictators. The real monsters sit on a couch, Me. The monsters have evil black hearts. They think of others as no more than puppets. In the wicked game they play. The wicked game is life. I am but a puppet, But does the puppet control others? From the string it hangs upon. Do not fret young one, We are all insane in some ways. For me it is that I will never be enough, For my friend that he will never be seen. For others it is fear. Insanity is created by the fear, That we will be left behind. To the creator of the game of life, I give you my regards, But do not leave us behind. I reach my hand to you, Please grab on, I need a grip on something soft, On something kind, Not something evil like the government. Or the clutches of temptation. Dear creator of this game, I have gone insane, Trying to be perfect at something I cannot. Please don’t leave me in the field of dreams, That I call home, My writing will be thrown away, I promise I will work hard. I will not sin as the perfect one I am. If you give me a slice of hope. A grip on sanity, In a life I do not wish to live. Do not leave me behind again, Dear creator of this game, Of life we play, Do you control the puppet strings? Of my mind when it continues feeling, Like I will never be enough. Do not leave me dear creator, I have been left behind too often. You see, Insanity is normal, From the pain of being sane. Someone who is sane, Would never watch someone die. And think it is alright, That this creator has them somewhere safe. If the creator loves us why does it let us be hurt, If the politician is just why does he argue, With someone who is sick in the mind. If a monarch is kind, Why does he let others starve? If a dictator is right in the mind, Why were the bombs made? To hurt the hearts of families? Insanity is something to grasp, So you can be like me, Understand everything, child. Do not dwell on it, You will only hurt yourself, With things you cannot fix.- -Hannah Robinett- She had wrote it at age twelve. A young age to think that way.. Her mother had told her to 'stop trying to be edgy' she never thought of it like that. More as a sense for comfort. If she got escape the grasp in what litte time she had left. What would she do? -Moments seem to blur like hours As I hug you tight. The moon across the sky. I wish for firelight, I want to find a way home to the place I used to know. But yet I hold you close. Moments. They run from me. I never seem to focus enough, To see them again. Moments, They flee. Because I guess I am scared. Though as I sit here in my darkest times I think of an old friend. I left her. Behind. For the Benefit of me. Moments. Perhaps I deserve to lose them. I’ve lost so much, Due to things I’ve done. I give myself the benefit of the doubt. I subtly lose my mind to small things. Moments. They are so fragile. I never seem to hold on for long. They seem to fly like my emotions. I hold on tight, wishing for wings. On a journey in the stars. Moments.- -Hannah Robinett She had wrote that one to show how out of control she felt. She had lost herself in writing, the way she choke for air in a place of space. She had took her life, hurting her own soul.
