I want you to know you're better than the hospital bed you're lying in,
than the life you've been leading or the cuts on your hands.
"Just went a little too hard, I guess."
You guess.
Well, as long as I know you're going to be okay
then I won't feel so bad when I say
*******,
******* for scaring me with the telephone ring I wasn't expecting
from my best friend who got the ambulance call at four in the morning-
"Something's not right" she told me.
So I ran over here because I became somebody through loving you
even though I promised myself I wouldn't let you
bother me anymore with beating yourself up.
I came in my sweatpants with the mismatched socks and my white ghost
following me to the elevator trying to bring my void to the surface
so it could remind me how empty I feel without recognizing
how much I'm always going to care about you.
And to see you in that light yellow room with the nurse outside the glass,
breathing through the oxygen tubes with your dad and step mom
whispering to your sister in the corner
"How could we let this happen?" or hanging their heads with "didn't we see the signs?"
It made me so angry seeing them wipe their sweaty palms on their
shouldn't be guilty faces,
because it isn't their fault.
But should I feel selfish for wanting to punch you when you were down?
For wanting to yell at you when you were clinging on to an opening?
"I'm fine, don't you see that?"
No.
I'm not wrong for telling you the things you don't want to hear.
Because you are better
than this.
You are better than the things you can't see right now.
You are better than the road your choices are leading you on.
"I'm 19, it doesn't matter."
And so I'll yell at you until you get it.
I'll face you until the reality sets in.
I'll be here to fade through the pamphlets you're getting
on how to cure something you thought you'd never have.
I'll sponsor the recovery you don't want,
and I'll make sure you heal from everything that's damaged you
until you understand
that you
are better
than this.