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Mother you saw the cuts on my hands
you asked me what they were
I told you they were barbed wire scratches
when I climbed up a tree
in our backyard.

Mother,
there are no trees here.

but you stayed silent
in the church pews
praying to a god
who couldn't save your daughter.

Mother, remember when you tucked me at night
and held me
because I am afraid of the dark but
told me nothing would go wrong because
you are the light of my life.
and everything is gonna be alright.

what happened?

one day,
you asked me if he does things to me
when we are alone
I felt your chest tighten
as i replied with nothing but a straight face
i forced myself to shake my head

just to see you breathe again.

Mother, you saw the lines under my eyes
you keep telling me I should go home earlier
go to bed earlier
but you do not understand
that monsters do not always hide
under your bed
sometimes, they welcome you

"home"

Mother, I want to tell you but
do you really look at me?
or you just see the
smiles
and how hard
I try not to make you worry.

do I really have to end up in
hospital beds
before you finally see
how unhappy I have been?

do I have to destroy myself
even more?

Mother,
tell me
when is everything going to be alright?

Mother you know how much
I hate enclosed spaces and
darkness
but right now
caskets seem like a pretty good bed
to finally
sleep.

Mother, tuck me in bed-
one
last
time.
okay?
if i show you
will you understand?

how i've outlined these arms
vein after vein
where sunlight runs
i see only
lines to trace

i got a barcode on my wrists

scan me for the price
of beauty

i am as expensive
as what people think of me.

do you know what it feels like
to attach your worth
to weighing scales
and waists that never
slim down?

is this why they call them
shoulder blades
to cut through
your skin
to be called
"pretty"

thigh gaps that map
the distance between your legs
to make you
matter so much
you can't stand on your own
feet.

when you walk the shoes
we wear
will you know?

the path to be
called beautiful
is full of
self-hate

and we pay for that bill.
I told you before.
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
And I will write stories in between our thighs
about how you read me until the ******
just to leave you with a cliffhanger.
I will plot chapters on your tongue
Make sure I go in and out,
And all around.
I will make sure you remember that
I taste like fully fleshed out tragedies,
I will create pages out of
the way your eyes looked like at sunset
or the way you brushed your hands through my hair
then rip them all out.
I will tattoo letters on your skin,
I will make the words bleed out of your being
You will know how it feels to be broken into pieces,
and still be considered a masterpiece.
Because I told you didn’t I?
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
and I can love you too
and destroy you
all the same.
The first thing about suicidal people is that they're not always the people who lay in bed, cry or sulk in a dark room. In fact, that’s a common misconception. Most of them, are highly-functional people. They laugh, talk with their friends, go to work, go to school, whatever. They do the things they need to do. It's part of the routine. But they still feel that they don't want to live anymore.

You see, just because they do things living people do doesn’t mean they’re not dead inside.

Second, suicidal people don’t want help. They know they need help but they don’t want it. Because they know you can't help them. You can try. Words of encouragement can help them understand that you want them to live and that people care about them. Words of encouragement help them stay for a while longer. But it doesn't make them want to live. At the end of the day, their resolve to die, doesn't change. You can't help them. They want to help themselves. But they don’t know how. The world is a ******-up place. Now all they want is relief.

And that is death.

Third, when suicidal people tell you they want to die, it's not for attention. But it's not for help, either. When they tell you they want to die, they're tasting the words come out of their mouths. They're tasting the sweetness of each syllable and bitterness of it all at the same time. And they're afraid that it tastes good. That it tastes just right. It echoes in their heads and they want to swallow death instead of life eating them alive.

Fourth, suicidal people don't need to hear the words "Please be okay." 'Cause more than you, that's the only thing that they want. To be okay. To be fine. But they’re not. They wrestle with their demons everyday only to find out that they’re only making love with them all along.

Fifth, most suicidal people don't show how they're suffering. And most of the time it's because they don't know how to say it to people. They don't know how to explain it to other people. That waking up is sometimes the hardest thing to do. That waking up is sometimes the worst thing that's been happening to them. How can you make normal people understand that? How can normal people understand that suicide isn't just lonely and depressed and gloomy ****? Suicide is also the exhaustion of this world.

So when people say they didn't see it coming. They really won't.

Sixth, most people think suicidal people are weak, lame *** beings. But the truth is, sometimes, they're the strongest people you'll ever meet. Why? Because they’ve been through hell and they’re still looking at you straight in the eye as if the world has not crumbled beneath them. It's just that they have become strong enough to want to die. What people don’t realize is that, being strong is not a state of being, it is earned. You have to do your ****, keep your **** together and still be able to actually be there for other people. But it's tiring. Most people do not understand that just because a person is strong doesn’t mean everything is alright. In fact, everything is not alright, that’s why they’re strong. Everything is falling apart but they appear intact.

Do you even realize how hard that is?

Everyday you keep fighting back and everyday you fall to the ground. Nothing changes. You lose everyday. Sure, some days are happy days. Good things happen once in a while. But happy things don't last. All good things must come to an end. And when you've come to that realization, what's more to live for? When you know you'll be happy then sad or angry or tired later on? Most people will say that that's what life is about.

"Overcoming challenges!" Well, I say, *******. I know everybody is fighting their own battles. But we deal with our battles differently. And lucky you, you haven’t given up yet. But suicidal people are just done with putting up concrete filling when all they feel inside is empty.

Seventh, suicidal people have been through a lot and they have fought and fought. That's why they still haven't pulled the trigger to their heads. But the thing is, life has become more of a war for them rather than something they must enjoy. They don't understand the essence of it anymore. They're just tired. They don't know when it will all end. They don't know how to fight wars when all they got are bare hands and a body that gets easily scraped and bruised.

Everyday they keep fighting it.
Everyday they lose.

But suicidal people,
God, they’re trying.
They really are.
I am so sad.
I know I should not be
drowning myself
in this deep water.
And I have swam
across this
so many
******* times.

But my arms
and my legs
are already
cold
and limp.

And I am just
too tired
too weak
to keep swimming.

— The End —