“I’m gonna die”
The tear in my mother’s eye
Was enough
For my mind to start writing my will
Was convincing
Me that living would soon be done
In a month or two
“I can scream, I can cry
but that won’t change nothing”
Wondered by my own leap
To that conclusion
Shocked by the suddenly short
Life expectation of an 11-year old
Holding on to the pavement
Delaying the point
Of no return to a careless life

She stepped back until the branch that hit her
Was nothing but a still part of a tree
Until the wind that had cut her skin
Didn't move her sight no more
Until she was just an observer
Of the mess her life had become
So she could set it still, paint it
As a picture more rosy than it
Ever would become

Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.

Awake! arise! the athlete’s arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best.

broken glass on the floor
spread out, oh so evenly.

you know,
i broke that mirror.

it was me, who realized
that beauty shatters
us all.

those vile words,
so twisted and cruel;
they, too, cut us until
we bleed.

we bleed
until we are pretty,
pretty enough
for ourselves

and no one else.