Poems capturing my life right now.
TW: mild suicide and trauma mention
This poems not about him
I remember the night before I came out about everything that happened.
Despite appearances, I don't think I've ever been closer to killing myself.
I remember when overwhelm pushed me past my breaking point and I became numb.
If at any point in my life I were to end it early, it would have been that night.
On May 12th, the next day, I finally set the truth free, it came spilling out of me, I surprised even myself.
I thought things would change, and for some parts they did.
I don't have to lie anymore, I can speak freely.
I don't have to see him anymore, I haven't seen him since.
I feel free, no longer holding a secret.
Yet it feels that I'm the only one who's changed.
Pictures of him are still scattered across my house.
Nobody wants to see him locked in a cage, and if they do they do a horrid job at expressing it.
He's still out there, free to do whatever he pleases.
I see my worst fear constantly hanging over my head, the fear that I won't be the only one.
But this poem is not about him.
This poem is about the people who sit and watch me struggle because of what he did, and do nothing but try and change me.
Make me talk to a therapist, force me change the way i do things, listen to me cry about what happened while doing nothing to prevent another from reliving this kind of pain.
Why am I the crazy one?
I don't understand how they could watch this happen to their child and not do anything and everything to prevent it from happening to another.
He won't do it again you say? Wasn't my ruined childhood enough? What about the other child he tried to hurt? How could you dismiss that?
You say he feels guilty for what he did? Why shouldn't he? Since when is guilt enough of a punishment? Have you seen the way I've suffered? A bit of guilt doesn't compare.
You're sorry you didn't see it? How could you not? How could you be outsmarted by someone who's not even ten?
This poem is not about him because the truth is he's not the only one who left me an empty vase.
Books I can understand
Despite being a poet I almost never read poetry,
Nearly every poem I've read has flown over my head like a kite.
Then one day not so long ago a very special girl told me about a book I'd soon grow to love.
I walked past the shelf and soon after spotting it I was enamored,
The book shared the words I couldn't quite come up with.
I was drawn to it like a plant towards the sun, I grew with it.
As I read it my eyes welled up with tears because I rarely feel so understood.
I now sit with a collection of poems I will soon read inches away from where I rest my head to sleep at night.
At the end of the day
At the end of the day I will be closer to the sun than ever could ever be.
Despite the struggle he has forced upon me I have not a single doubt that looking back on this I will know that my life will not be ruined by those nights.
I don't understand him because I am not like him.
Even in my moments of unspeakable pain I know at my core that this will shake me, but it will not shatter me.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from sixteen
PoetryA poetry book I wrote during periods of my life with many different facets. I wrote about happy moments, addiction, and trauma, the book becomes more depressing as it goes on. I choose the title "letters from sixteen" to capture how I wanted to capt...
