poems

the tide that swallows.

a/n at the end.
(tw: mention of suicide.)

i see you, 
the way you curl into yourself 
when no one's looking, 
the way your breath turns shallow 
like it's trying to leave before you do. 
you stand in mirrors you can't bear to meet, 
counting the cracks like they belong to you, 
as if breaking is all you were ever meant for. 

do you remember the first time it hurt? 
when the world pushed too hard, 
when the silence grew teeth, 
when the weight of being alive 
became something sharp enough to carve? 
i see the marks. 
they whisper stories you can't take back, 
the red truths you bled 
when words weren't enough. 

you've been drowning for years, 
salt water in your lungs, 
your head just barely above the surface. 
how long can you tread the tide 
before it swallows you whole? 
how long can you live with this quiet violence, 
this ache that claws at your insides 
and leaves nothing but shadows behind? 

i hear you ask the question 
you've been too afraid to say out loud: 
is it better to let go? 
to fall into the dark, 
to slip beneath the waves 
and feel nothing at all? 
you wonder if the ocean knows your name, 
if it's waiting to take you back. 

but i also hear the voice you keep buried, 
the faint hum that still tries to hold on, 
the one that whispers, 
stay a little longer.
it's a cruel thing, 
this tiny, trembling light 
in a heart that feels like stone. 
that keeps beating, 
even when you beg it to stop. 

i want to tell you it gets better. 
but you already know 
that not all wounds heal. 
some just fester quietly, 
carried like ghosts 
in a body too tired to keep walking. 

if you go, 
the ocean will take you, 
soft and indifferent. 
but i need you to know: 
it won't remember your name. 
and maybe that's what you want— 
to vanish, 
to slip into nothing. 

but what if there's something 
waiting beyond the tide? 
what if, just this once, 
you take the hand you've been too afraid to reach for? 
what if you stay? 
even if it breaks you? 
even if it hurts? 

because it's you i'm talking to— 
not some stranger in the dark, 
not some lost soul wandering the void. 
it's me.
pleading with myself.
whispering into the cracks of my own reflection, 
trying to keep my head above water 
when all i want is to let the tide 
pull me under. 

a/n:

for you to better understand this, i must reveal that this is me speaking to myself. this is one of those times, the kind where you have a split second of clarity, where you know you're struggling. where you know what you're thinking is wrong, when you remember this way of feeling isn't normal. this is one of those rare moments where you want to plead with yourself to stay. it's a moment where you're scared. it's a moment where you're sad, sympathetic for yourself, terrified for yourself. you cannot always control your thoughts, and some know that better than others. this poem, for me, was a pleading moment where i'm trying to level with myself. this is almost a self reflection moment for me. where i know i'm struggling, i know i'm being irrational. i can understand why it isn't fair to wish to take my own life, i understand it isn't fair to myself to keep feeling this way. outside of these moments, my mind is a train track, my thoughts a train, and me as the unwilling person tied to the tracks. i like to say that you can't feel anyway you don't want to, but it's simply not true. this poem is like a magnifying glass straight over an open wound. this may be the rawest i've been with my writing. i hope this poem can be interpreted correctly, but also in different ways to further comfort others. to let you know you aren't alone. if there are any questions about any part of this poem (because it is a pretty long one), please feel free to leave comments on the section and i'll explain.