I save people
because no one ever came for me.

Because every time I reach for someone else,
I forget-briefly
that I’m still drowning.

It’s not nobility.
It’s not grace.
It’s the only way I know how to stay alive
without admitting I don’t want to be.

As long as I’m helping someone else
pull their pain out of their chest,
I don’t have to look
at the blade still in mine.

But the worst part is this:
One day, I won’t be able to save them.
And when that day comes,
I won’t know how to save myself either.

And I don’t think anyone else will,
or would.