[ Note: My earliest suicide attempt was at the age of 13. I wanted to relive my then depressed mindset before the attempt in this poem. I am now in my 40’s and live the best life I am able to live. I am grateful to still be here. If you are experiencing depression, please look for professional help. It can get a lot better. ]

Warning: poem may trigger painful emotions

I don’t know how to feel today
there is no sound in my steps
I wish I could black out
beneath the rumors spread
they haunt me at the school
I’m shedding flakes of fear
hoping days pass faster
toilet breaks take longer
there’s hunger on the streets
for a conversation piece
face down not to be read
stumble and sway further
I am silence to the useless
I am made of regrets
at night when lights have dropped
I wish I could relax
my muscles are so painful
my bedspread catches sweat
I cannot leave the school
my mind is a machine
too young to be wounded
in this dark sloped silhouette
to see smiles and be seen
be welcomed as a gift
this – or be listed dead
which need will be met ?
the pressure lifted off
not sure if I’d be missed

© Monique (starfish_72)


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Monique's Notebook

Poetry mainly - I play with my creative freedom.

4 gedachten over “Thirteen”

  1. I am glad you are here!! I am happy that you write. I am happy to know you and even happier to know a bit of your work. Suicide has been a troubled face expressed in my life on more occasions than I cared for. Thanks for writing darling. Aren’t we fabulous at 40 something?


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