the crisis center
is nothing close to
comforting
and it the last
place
i would want to
call
when i'm thinking of jumping
off of a bridge
and ending it all.
who would have ever thought it
would come to this-
sitting, thinking, and
suddenly crying, sobbing,
screaming for help
without saying a word.
but i am still here,
alive and breathing,
growing more trees than weeds
in this ******* rib-cage
that never could learn how to just be.
but i'll take trees over
the dead and brown and
rough
any day.  
any day
i could have stopped
it all-
am i talking about life or
the pain of it?
we will never know, but we will know
THAT NEW GROWTH COMES WITH DEATH
AND SOMETIMES THE PAIN OF STRIKING OUT ONLY MAKES THAT PERFECT HIT ALL THE MORE SANCTIFYING
AND WHEN IT STOPS RAINING
YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT WHAT'S COMING NEXT.
it always gets better.
the ropes get stronger, less fraying.
and the ground, god, the ground, you've never felt anything more solid in your life.
and this is what the future looks like.
nothing comes out of the ash that isn't stronger than what was burned.
i am not less
than who i was before,
before i died at the hands
of smoke and
ignorance.
i am more and i am stronger than
your fists will ever be, and i am smarter
than the wit you
never understood yourself,
and i am more,
so much more
determined than
the devil ever was.
do you see this now?
do you see me
here
and now
standing on my own
and making waves
and telling the wind which way to blow,
teaching spring how to sing properly
and never falling down
at the feet of anyone
who resembles you?
do you see
me
now
walking on my own?