I wrote this when I woke up in the middle of the night and I found it this morning. I have no memory of why I wrote it or who it was for, I only know it was written at 4:13 am, and it was written with such haste that many words had to be rewritten.
“this is a suicide poem,”
makes a joke about it,
doesn’t hear the echo
of my rope harnesses
and leftover blood stains
that don’t wash out
of my family’s brainstems
he says, “don’t try this at home,
kids,” says robert frost is chronically
depressed, laughs because the bird that
lives inside him is still singing
but me, my canary is long dead
because each hollow cave between my ribs
has long been filled with poison
love, do not joke about depression:
we are all pretending we are
diamond mines where there is only
coal, we are pretending not to hear
our emptiness howl -
love, if you are a teacher,
be tender, be sweet
you never know how close to death
are the creatures in these seats.
“I hate how so many people think I’m beautiful because in reality, I struggle with self hate.”
So you know, I’m in the middle of this HUGE relapse, right? Well I was in the bathroom and BAM, there was a cricket in my bathroom! Like what the heck right? So I battled it with some air freshener and I won and IT WAS THE MOST EMPOWERING MOMENT I’VE EXPERIENCED IN WEEKS.
SO IF YOU’RE RELAPSING, GO BATTLE A CRICKET BECAUSE APPARENTLY KILLING SMALL INSECTS HELPS RELIEVE SADNESS.