someday, i’ll die and
the letters i wrote will never be seen
by the receivers of it.
world, if that happens,
please hold those people gently for me,
for that’s everything that i want
to do in this lifetime.
all of the people need at least someone
that will chase their worries away,
but i can’t be available for everyone.
i can’t be within their reach sometimes,
because i die a little too in my room,
in my head,
and i don’t want for them to know.
because if they did,
their smiles will shatter,
knowing that the person that they
lean on to can no longer hold its parts.
someday, i’ll die and
i hope for it to be sooner.
if i did,
please make my mother realize
that she didn’t lose a child,
because i was never hers,
and she was never mine.
she is for the things she wants to pursue,
and so i would set myself aside always,
putting my face on the farthest
space on the shelf.
but that’s not the problem.
the problem is me,
not wearing the skin she would probably
recognize.
the skin that she used to know.
someday, i’ll die
but i know the moon won’t cry.
i know the stars will keep on shining,
for i am fully aware that my death won’t be
the end for everyone.
the world will keep on spinning,
but with lesser people in it.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
