Careful But Joe took his life five years after school. There was no warning, or sign, I didn't have a clue. And I'd like to tell you it was because he always played it cool. That he hid things real well and no one could know, or do anything at all. But I can't lie in a poem. And the truth is, there was always so much more I could do. Not just for him, but for them, me, and you, too. I could have tried to coax him out of his silence, or gently remind him that his laugh was a present. How I used to look up new jokes just so I might get to hear it, or draw doodles of jellyfish wearing sequin pyjamas, so he'd get thrown out of maths when that boiler-laugh blew a gasket. But I never told him. I never let him know what he meant. And now, every day, when I say that I miss him, I can only hope he's somewhere quiet enough to hear me. But the people around me, and everyone I meet, get to see what it's like when my heart's not a secret. I've strapped a firehose to the base and set the nozzle in my chest, until every feeling I feel is set free, so that now, I care about people more than they care about me. Pt:2