digest to understand,
then shelf it.
I once read my father's
suicide note --
thank god it remains only a draft.
it's weird touching my skin
knowing I was one pill,
one bullet to head, one tight knot away
from ever existing.
i'm not quite sure which one
it would have been,
as I never intend to ask;
I will leave that to my imagination
(something i've learned he cannot be released from)
I am the daughter of a man
who is tired and afraid of
the voices in his head;
and every day I pray
I am louder.
Not mine
