Being17. I heard the snickers of my peers. I watched as they pointed and laughed. I felt my heart break, when their fingers lead to me. Being 17. I heard the weeping the night he died. I stood aside as their family fell apart. I felt the hole in my chest, when I refused to attend the funeral. Being 17. I remember the things that can never be forgotten. I replay these moments in my mind. And I write to let myself heal.