The phone rang today and they told you I wasn’t happy,
You picked me up from school and tried to talk to me.
The conversation held empty promises, false reassurance.
Afterwards, I didn’t feel like I could talk to you,
And that was because you never said I could.
So I kept feeling sadder and sadder, nothing changed.
I always knew, underneath, you didn’t care at all.
The phone rang today, it turns out my sister is unhappy.
You took her to counselling and spoke to her for hours.
The conversation was full of hope and promises you could keep.
Afterward, she knew she could count on you, always,
And that was because you told her she could come to you.
She gradually felt happy and happier still, forever changing.
Your care for her was right out in the open, and you cared a lot.
The phone didn’t ring today – today you did the calling.
You had found me dead in my bedroom, this time successful.
Your words were forced and lost of hope as you told them.
Afterwards, at the funeral you had a moment to speak,
“I wish I had told you that you could talk to me
And that I didn’t laugh when you joked about being upset constantly.
If only you had seen that we care, and if only we had shown it.”