I find myself often struggling for air,
as I try to tread water on my own.
But this ocean goes deeper than I ever imagined,
and no one's ever taught me how to swim alone.
That was your job. You were supposed to show me how it's done.
Isn't that what you're for? To be the safety net until I'm ready?
Instead you watched me fighting to stay afloat .
Never my saving grace because your spirit's much too deadly.
I'm stuck stagnant in the deep end with no experience at all,
and memories of drowning are far too clear in my mind.
I refuse to move from the safe place I have found in this hell;
maybe I can fool myself into believing that "I'm fine"
If no one touches me, then I won't think about it too much;
I can almost forget all the moments your hands held me down.
And that every time you did, I forced my way back up to the top,
because I wanted you to see that I was worth keeping around.
I've barely survived the waves that tried to pull me under,
and the rapids that took me way off course for a while.
Now I'm little bit ruined with scars no one can see,
and sometimes I forget I know how to smile.
It's terrifying to be offered a hand now;
constantly thinking that they're going to let me slip away.
And I refuse to ever drown by the hands of another again;
so I remain on my own because you've convinced me it's safer this way
I'm still not sure if I matter enough yet;
so I can show you what's left of me, thanks to you.
I wonder what happened to the girl I would have became,
if only you had just taught me how to swim
like you were supposed to...

A poet dies not when he looses the will to live
But when he looses the will to write