To anyone struggling with suicidal ideation, know that I see you and I hear you. You aren’t alone, although you may feel that way at times. I hope in your battle, you take these words with you: I am glad you are still alive. I am glad you are still here. Thank you for fighting. You are not a coward, and I hope you can have kindness for yourself, and move forward.
In a world so cruel, must we turn that knife inward?
Editor’s note: This collection does mention instances of suicidal ideation and suicide. Please proceed with caution as the content may be triggering or sensitive.
Momma said if you do something, do it all the way
Momma said that’s the way to be proud, baby
Momma said never leave things half finished
But I can’t even finish off myself.
Days go by and I’m still looking in the mirror
Same face, same eyes, same disappointment.
I’ve left everything I’ve ever done half finished
Don’t know why, must be a fatal flaw I have
So tired I can’t even get out of bed
But my bones are aching with the need to run
Useless distractions keep me from the pit
And when they’re done, I slowly start to fall
Grab a root, a vine, a branch
To try to stop the end
But it’s useless, I always end up here anyways.
Other people deal in different ways. With physical and mental scars that show.
Me? I’m always leaving things half-done
So if I didn’t tell you, you really wouldn’t know.
Hurting is scary, but I do it all the time
In little ways that certainly don’t show
Like a coward, can’t take a knife to skin
More like a leech, I’m bleeding you of pity
Can’t starve myself, so I just think about it
And all the other different ways to die
I’d be vindictive and petty towards everyone
If I had the energy to be angry at the world
Half finished, just like all my school papers
And all the job applications I’ve made
Dropped out of college because I’m so worthless
There’s not a single thing I’ve made worth a penny or less
This poem doesn’t even rhyme
And I’m running out of time
To explain to you just how I really feel
If I had the courage, I’d have died already
But my hand just isn’t steady
Steady enough to make myself bleed.
Not a boy or a girl,
God, what sort of half breed shit is this?
If I could make up my mind, I’d run out of time
Call this poem half finished.
I remember you, child of my past. A big bright light that people shied away from. They mistook you for a flame, and tried to dampen your light. I hear you, sweet child, speak your mind.
You never learned to be quiet, you just learned who would listen.
I remember you, teen of my past. The world is not as dark as you remember it, there is light in this life. Your pain is real, your anger is real, but you are gripping the knife by the blade. Learn to let go, don’t turn the edge inward.
You never learned to stop being angry, you just learned who deserved your anger.
I hear your words. I hear your prayers in the night. I will grant them as best I can. Move on, move forward. Carry this light on, and on.
Do not let your light go out because you are afraid.
I lived my life in standstill. Like a rock, settled in the earth. But I, living rock, felt the tremors in the earth with each step of care I have taken.
I have felt the rains of love wash away the dirt, and dislodge me. I have felt the grass grow greener from rain.
I wish to move now, tumble down the mountain and joyously skip along its face. I wish to feel free, and take flight.
I want to finish this the way I started, with hope for something better. I want to live, even if it’s not grand, because feeling the rain and the sun is enough.
I will live.