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rebecca Nov 2018
Anytime you really, truly want to just walk away,
Not glancing back or up or sideways or
Down, come to me.

We can hop in the car. get a bike. hell,
Even just walk. sounds good enough for me.
‘Course, we can’t just walk away. we’d lose-
Lose what semblance of a normal life we have now,
Lose the majority of the people making up that life.

But we’d get out of this place, this place
Eating away at our souls, our very beings.

Forget those people. forget this life. take my hand, let’s just
Run until the desert finally kills us. but maybe, we can escape.
Escape what we already know, already despise-
Escape into something better.
“And We’ll Be Free”- I Will Wait, by Mumford and Sons
rebecca Oct 2018
her breath caught,
her tongue tied.
why does she always feel
like she has to hide?
sometimes it's hard-
keeping it all inside.
  Oct 2018 rebecca
She Writes
Fly
You were not forged with wings
To spend your life perched upon a branch
Watching the world pass you by
rebecca Oct 2018
I’m not going to take a razor,
and slide it down my own arm.
I won’t go grab a knife, or scissors, or a flame,
and cause myself physical harm.
I won’t be falling with a noose around my neck,
begging for it to take my last breath.
Nor swallowing a bunch of pills, in hopes.
No, I won’t be causing my own death.

But if I saw a car, coming right at me,
while I still had a chance to get away,
I can’t say, with certain certainty,
“Oh, I’ll step out of its way.”
And if an older, stronger, bigger man,
was stopping me on the street,
knife at my throat, gun at my head,
I don’t know if I’d have it in me to scream.

I write poetry to escape,
though I’ve got a smile as I do.
No one knows the kind of thoughts I’ve had,
no ones ever honestly asked me “how are you.”
I feel like I’ve been begging for help,
sending out pleas, screaming inside.
But no one has the vaguest idea I’m in pain-
there’s just too much that I hide.

But hey. I’m not going to take a razor,
or a flame or a noose or some pills.
You don’t need to worry about me,
It’s not going to be me who gets me killed.
rebecca Oct 2018
It’s been an off day.
Not an “I’m ready to die” day,
more of a “who am I
why am I here
where am I going
what am I”
type day.
I don’t know what I want to do with myself.
People tell me to get up.
Go do something.
That my bedroom walls are ******* the life out of me.
I believe it, too, but today’s a day
where I don’t want to be in my walls, but
don’t know how to get out.
rebecca Sep 2018
Isn’t this life hard?
Sometimes I wish we had a pause button, to just
stop everything for a moment,
take a breath for a while.
Not forever, but for a while.
Sometimes I wish we were closer, that we talked
like we used to. Sometimes I wish
you and I could go back to a few months ago,
back to last summer, when things were better,
before they went back to worse.
Sometimes I wish you hadn’t called quits,
before calling me first.
Sometimes I wish you would come find me,
hold me like you did before.
I wish you didn’t leave.
-why don’t you come back-
I wish you would come and keep me.
Come back?
rebecca Sep 2018
do you have moments, where you can’t imagine a future?
you’re lying there, staring at the
same walls
same ceilings
same words
with nothing but the same feelings-
empty and pale,
like there’s no reason to go on,
when you can’t even do enough to fail.
the future is coming, but you don’t want to be in it,
can’t imagine yourself in it.
where you just want to stop.
everything.
and just sit there for a while.
maybe not death, as that’s too permanent,
but something close to it.
when you can feel the rope around your neck,
the razor on your wrist,
the way the pills taste.
you can imagine it, and you aren’t sure if it’s what you want,
or just the feelings you imagine it will give you
Is this depression?
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