Doorway to Nowhere

A Letter to the Voiceless, Lifeless

This is my book of poetry.

The book where I write unspoken feelings,
thoughts,
confessions,
lies.

Where I express each and every one of your problems.
Where the ocean of words you wanted to say, shout, scream but knew you'd regret are finally heard.
Read. Felt. Understood. Acknowledged. Justified.

Where it doesn't matter whether you were the wealthy king or the lowly slave or the sick peasant or the sick peasant's child, your voice is amplified and everyone knows what you said and it doesn't matter whether they care or not because at least you were heard.
Understood. Acknowledged. And your words were justified.

Your words, your words are important to me, your sins are important to me, your blood, sweat, tears, mistakes are important to me. You are important to me.

And this is where I prove it to you.

This is where all of you are.
Every time you self-harmed,
every night you spent crying yourselves to sleep,
every day you wished you were dead,
every occasion you encountered the people who loved you, hated you, knew you, understood you, justified your words.

The people who didn't know.

Didn't know you were running, falling, breaking.
Losing, needing, taking.
Sinning, sorry, shaking.
Scared, ashamed, faking.
Lost, hopeless, crying,
Because of the constant lying.
Because of the endless trying.
Tired of always denying.
You knew you couldn't hide forever.
Kept your secrets close together.
Buried all you used to treasure.
Hoping that you could endeavor.
Now I write what you couldn't tell them. Now they'll hear your silent cries as you lay in the grave that they place flowers on, weeping tears of sorrow and regret and confusion, because they wondered why you did this to yourself, why you ended your life, why you hated the way you had been living. I write this for them, so they can finally know that it wasn't their fault, you just couldn't go on because you were terrified that wherever you were going would be as bad or even worse than where you had been already, and I request that not only do they read these words, but justify them, because that's all that you had ever wanted, needed, longed for.

Because this is where all of you are.
Every minute, second, moment you lived in a seemingly endless void,
every scar, every mark, every permanent reminder of the nightmare you once knew all too well,
every drop of charred memories you bled,
every unfair change you were forced to make.
They are here.
They are read.
They are thought.
They are mourned.
They are felt.
They are understood.
They are acknowledged.
They are justified.

-GS