Poetry

Not a Coward's Escape

She held the knife to her wrist. 
Was this really the coward's way out?
Was what people were saying true?
But then, if she did it, if she took her life,
What would they talk about?
About the girl who gave up,
Who seemed to strong until the end?
The end where her secrets flowed out with her blood?
Did they think she wouldn't break, just bend?
She wasn't as strong as she pretended. 
She smiled so they wouldn't notice. 
She laughed to hold back the tears.
At night her dreams were haunted by the waking world. 
She loosened her grip on the knife. 
Could she do it?
Would she do it?
Was she better than this?
Should she find a different way out?
There was more than pain and pretending in life. 
She looked around her bedroom. 
Pictures of her at a happier time,
Memories of the bad that got better. 
Would this get better too?
Would this pain end as well?
A tiny courage sparked inside her.
She decided. 
She dropped the knife. 
It wasn't a coward's way out,
t was the way out for the ones who's courage ran out. 
It was the escape,
Not for a coward,
But for someone who saw no end. 
She sat down and cried. 
How had it come to this?
She had almost taken her life.
She had been prepared to. 
But she didn't.
She would be stronger,
She wouldn't let go of her courage no matter what. 
That's how she would keep going.
And she'd help everyone around her do it too.