Hey,
Before you hit send, here's a thought on the mend:
Try to end a possible falsehood in yourself -
Views, hearts, and artificial sunlight is not wealth;
Words are measured most by meaning,
So if you mean to speak true
If you mean to be intrinsically you:
You're living the colors none else can glow
You bring a message none others know -
You are feeling wrought through form
Nothing less could be so warm.

So please don't worry about some silly quarry
Poetry's not a popularity contest
Being yourself shouldn't have to be a test;
Everyone deserves a chance to rest
and just write.

[Content warning: Suicide]
(After ‘MajorTransformerNerd’)

I thought of you as I fell,
As I caught a glimpse of hell;
But I saw this world beyond its spell,
And I had no more strength to dwell.

I thought of you with my last pill,
Just before my heart sang still;
I wanted only to take it back;
But once begun, one can't leave this track.

There was a single second before the bullet slay;
Time alone for one last thought;
And with all my heart I could only pray,
That your soul would never rot.

In truth, you're the only thing I'll miss;
In a life this lost, you were my only bliss.

But I was broken long ago,
And each smile was merely show;
I lost the war years before we'd met;
From birth I was doomed for regret.

They may have made me cry,
But my tears were only for you;
I've long been destined to die,
And this pain was nothing new;
I just didn't want to say goodbye,
For you were the only friend I knew.

Don't blame yourself that I died;
I felt you there when you tried,
But the infection was far too deep;
This is the only way I know to sleep.

Love doesn't disappear with death;
I love you long past my last breath.

So please promise me you won't follow;
Please promise me your soul won't hollow;
Please promise me you'll overcome this strife,
And please promise me you'll still live life.

Look back - my sight was black and white,
A decidedly dividing definition;
“Surely now I see what’s right” –
What a presumptuous premonition.

Fast forward a few:
“All scenes shall shatter.”
Nihilism, not new; just
Cognitive chatter.

Even Nothing now ends
in a burst of ferocious flame;
The love that she sends
renders the Big Bang tame.

You ask what I believe:
As though it’s set in stone;
As though there’s some reprieve;
As though I’ve fully grown.

All the world’s a stage, they say;
And the mind that makes the sun
Cannot quite conceive of None;
Life’s a game we have to play.

Perhaps life is just life to be
And living is the greatest art
And in the end we’re always free
In the balance of our heart

Tell me, then: what tells me this?
The world within, no less real,
Yet not more; therein is bliss.
Behind the door, simply feel.

What’s without and what’s within:
Is there balance; is there zen?

Swear you’ll hold her tight
From sounds that screech,
And all the things that try to reach
Corrosive claws for her thoughts at night.

She may not be able to express
The demons she faces when she dares,
So never tell her no one cares;
Just love her and she won’t repress.

She’s stronger than she’ll ever know, so
Don’t try to be just her hero;
Be the place she’s safe at zero,
And watch what wonders love will show.

How to Be a Poet
(After Wendell Berry)

To be a poet is not just to write poetry. To be a poet is not to refuse to look at a computer screen. To be a poet is not to find some structured, patterned language in which to fit a thought.
To be a poet: accept. Qualia is a term that defines the unique experience of how our senses manifest. We may both agree that this text is black, but how can we know that I see the same shade of black as you do? To be a poet: accept that all perspectives have value.
To be a poet: listen. Listen to the unbalanced grating of the washer machine thrown slightly off its axis; listen to the blanket of sounds caressing your skin as you sit on the bus. Listen to the sounds and dreams of the world around you.
To be a poet: think. Think of the way the tap of fingers feel against your jeans; think of all those little projects you never quite managed to follow. Think of all those thoughts you were scared to acknowledge.
To be a poet: feel. Feel for the smiles and the averted eyes; feel for the lost souls and the newlyweds. Feel sunshine on your face, feel wind brushing against your jacket. Just feel.
To be a poet: dream. Dream and don’t stop. Dream about dreaming. Dream about running away. Dream about getting more sleep. Dream with such reverence that others start to dream again too.  
Some days you may not have a pen. Some days you may not have a computer. Some days may be bright and warm, others dark and cold. Being a poet is not about meeting certain conditions; being a poet is about finding meaning in what exists.