TW: suicide
☆
I taught myself a special kind of macramé when I was just a kid
Tying up a cord into a hundred knots
So elegant, so intricate
I kept wondering what to do with it
I kept wondering what use to make of it
Would have made for a beautiful decoration
Hung up in the centre of my room
Dangling down from the ceiling
Where everyone could see
My exceptional dying declaration
Possibly a thing to wear, and reason to be proud
Exquisite jewelry
A necklace made by hand, and from rope
Or I could have draped it over me
Like some kind of stunning shroud
Maybe it was all of that
Only that I never tried
I knew and know exactly how
After all, I have taught myself the art of it
And once learnt, some things are not to forget
Only that I had no place for presentation
And no one to admire it
Nobody ever cared enough to see the noose
And I never got far enough to test the strength of the knots I made
Nobody ever grasped my thoughts of desperation
Looking back, it never was a pretty net
I might have been wrong all along
Perhaps it was not as elegant, as intricate
Maybe there was no beauty to be understood
I think it existed only inside my head
☆
I am fine (in fact I am doing very good :)), I just got thinking about the past and then made this.
YOU ARE READING
It does get better.
PoetryPeople say it will get better. But to be fair, most of them never were in your place. They say you will get happy again, but how can they know? I've struggled with trauma, mental illnesses, and self harm for many years. These are (mostly) poems - ab...
