2017 was an alcohol,
that cuts through your throat,
alone or with friends.
But you still drink it, anyway.

2017 was writing my first poem
published for the world
when I thought I’ll stay silent,
words were there. Still.

2017 was the first tattoo
on my body. I loved my skin enough
that I inked & hurt it.
The irony.

2017 was ocean, sandy toes,
and tan lines.
It was the strong waves
and also the calm.

2017 was loving everyone
I love, unconditionally.
Even if I was hurt.
Even without replies.

2017 was going to the gym,
with the mindset of vanity.
Of looking good,
but not feeling good.

2017 was body image issues,
from skinny to thicc thighs,
starvation and stress eat.
It was never contentment.

2017 was cutting my hair short
when I wanted it to be long.
And I regretted it
right after.

2017 was everything except self love.
It was pain, hatred, pride & anxiety
waking me up in the middle of the night
and keeps me up all night.

I wanted to write something
without biterness & hate
but I’m sorry it turned out like this.
2017 was being sorry most of the time.

Sorry for being this way,
and being alive but ungrateful.
Sorry for sticking to my last hope,
that’s all I’ve got.

There are people that come and go.
That's it.
And, I know you're breaking,
baby, it's not your fault.
You do not lack.

You might intersect,
or rest at a bus stop,
or they may be
along the way.
A part of your journey,
but not a destination.

It just so happens that
there are better paths to walk,
ocean to cross,
mountains to conquer.

I'm not the love letter you send
with matching flowers
and chocolates that could make
my stomach turn.

I'm not the 18 stanza poem you write
with words that are breath taking
stating how beautiful I am
when I ******* smile.

I'm not a novel,
that you read at dawn
and you finish in the morning,
I'm not that fascinating to read.

I'm the suicide letter,
words does not come out much,
but when it does,
it will hurt.

I'm the suicide letter,
words does not come out much,
but when it does,
it will be too late.