First Responder Poems

Pen, Paper, And A 9MM In Hand.

Pen, paper, and a 9mm in hand.

As I begin to write I try to put down a justified reason for this.

My family will wonder why.

But the truth is there is no excuse.

I just can't handle the stress anymore.

I'm talking to dead people.

And dead people are talking to me.

I sit there at my kitchen table and finish my note.

I take a good look at the 9mm handgun.

I raise it to my right temple and put my finger to the trigger.

I look outside my kitchen window one last time.

And to my surprise I see a flower growing from the sidewalk.

I can't help but think.

That must of been tough for the flower to do that but yet there it stands strong and beautiful sticking up from the concrete.

Then I realize that I to am like the flower.

It hasn't been easy for me.

But in the end it will work out and I too will be strong like the flower.

I lower the 9mm and set it onto the table.

Looking down and reading my note that I had written to try and justify why I was about to kill myself.

I ripped up the paper and walked out the kitchen door, and down to the flower growing up from the sidewalk.

I got down on me knees and said a few prayers thanking God for a sign.

I beg of you please find your flower, though it may not be a flower find your reasoning to hold on and stick through the tough times.