Today I learnt that whales don't die from old age,
but they get tired of swimming up for air and drown themselves,
I began to wonder,
Am I the water ?
Creating the obstacles between a person and their happiness which could result in their leave?
am I the air ?
The thing somebody wants and needs?
Or am I the whale?
Getting tired of not catching a second to just breathe in this fast tracked life?
it's not easy for anyone,
there's always been such a hasty line between being suicidal and being okay,
but maybe there's an unnoticed grey area?
where one doesn't exactly want to die but they just want someone to save them.
YOU ARE READING
17th Street.
PoetryThese are short poems I wrote throughout my 17th street of life and it was the only way I deemed fit for me to heal and ascend out of all the love and heartbreak and loss I've had to deal with. I wrote them in hopes that one day I'd get to look back...
