4. Memories and Feelings That Still Haunt Me

The Birth Of Poetry

TRIGGER WARNING!!

03.09.20

I've cried too hard for too long as I debated death.

Over and over, all I wanted was a quick overdose,

a quick way to escape the pain.

Until the guilt set it

and made me realise,

suicide feels too selfish.

Instead I turned my sadness into art

and my pain into strength.

Desperately wanting to carve up my skin,

I bled on a page.

My screams are silent, hidden behind closed doors,

and computer screens.

All these horrible emotions kept secret in notebooks.

I'm too afraid to speak about it, so I write it down

That's how my poetry is made.