And it's only when it's two months later and you're sitting at a Moxies with your best friends, laughing at the nonsense they're saying that you realize it. You realize that all those poems that you wrote at 2 am when you didn't want to live saved your life. And it's at this Moxies that you see the sharp blade of the steak knife they gave to you to cut your meal but you don't flinch. You don't tug at the sleeves of your sweater to cover your wrists or feel the tears prickle at the back of your eyes. And it's at this Moxies, on a warm spring night, that you realize you're okay. Your best friend says your nick name and makes some funny face and you can breath. Over the speakers you can hear one of your favourite songs playing and you bob your head along and it doesn't hurt to be alive anymore. And it's at this Moxies that you realize you've made it.
- you're going to be okay
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From The Book I'll Never Write
PoetrySomething I had to write in order to feel again.
