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kind of? it just fills me with so much-- so much desperation when I think about how many people want to die.

and i spent, like, almost three hours or something yesterday trying to talk people out of it online. because i was thinking about it. but most of them didn't change their minds, or anything.

did i fail them? i could have been their last chance. i could have been so many people's last chance. i could have saved them if i'd known the right words to say.

Woah, hey, hey, I gotta stop you there. You can't blame yourself for it if... if they don't change their minds.You're not the reason they want to die, so it's... it's not your fault if they do. And you're not making them any more likely that they will, either.

no, no, i'm not. i know it's not my fault. but... i just care so much! i can't believe they want to die. i wish i could tell them that i'm here for them and i want to give them all the things they wanted and couldn't get because life couldn't give it to them. i wish i could show them how beautiful it all can be.

But you can't.
You can't even help yourself. Put on your own oxygen mask first, you know?

you and i both know that anything going on with me isn't nearly that serious

It should be.

what's that supposed to mean? are you trying to say that i should be worse? i should want... want to die?

No, no! Jeez. I mean you should take it seriously- as seriously as you've been taking random strangers' problems on the internet. If you don't take care of yourself, then maybe one day the tables'll turn and there'll be someone trying to talk you out of it. You matter too, you know. You're just human.

i

...Are you okay?

y
yeah. sorry. i'm just not used to this

Used to what?

you being nice?
Be kind to yourself. Not everything in the world is your fault. Not every evil is because of your personal failure.

Not sure what to tag.
Don't look
in my eyes
for so long.

I'm afraid that
my smile will
only grow
until it is
all I can see
and I'll give
myself away.

Don't speak
to me
so often.

I'm afraid that
I'll grow used
to the sound
of your voice
and become
addicted to
your words.

Don't show
me so much
kindness.

I'm afraid that
my standards
are so low
the median
has become the
bar all should pass
and I'll start
to think
I deserve it.

But whatever
you do

don't stop.
Too tired to go to sleep, so here's a new piece where I find myself in an old situation. Things could be worse.
M Solav Jul 19
Must there be the voice of an old man
To be inspired by wisdom?
Must there be intelligible words
To guess out the intention?
Must there be vulnerability
To presume the proper truth?

There ain’t a single channel
On the interface of dialogue

Must we lie only in whispers
To keep hurt under the seal?
Must we sigh only in earnest
To show others where we bleed?
Must we die only in peace
To pass the torch with ease?

There ain’t a single channel
On the interface of dialogue
Written in November 2019.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Nikita Jun 30
Oh hello.
What’s your name?
That’s nice. Do you sing?
No kidding.
Oh me? Not me.
My voice shrills and kills until it...
Sorry. Did I just-?
Never mind. Yeah, okay.
I’d love that.
See you next weekend?
Great. Wait...
Before you go-?
Can you promise?
You do? Oh, you do.
It’s just- It’s just that I find it...
Great. Amazing. Wonderful.
Have fun- With her. Yeah.
Cool. Later.
A conversation in a time, space and with characters of your own creation. Feel free to reinvent the story until it makes sense to you.
Zack Apr 17
Me: What's so hard about the first line?
Also Me: There's nothing difficult at all! It's just like baking a cake.
M: In what way, would you say, this is at all like baking a cake?
A M: Cakes, in a way, are a composition. They can come in a variety of flavors, from mundane munchies to extravagant favors.
M: You comic, that's pretty much everything in life; are you hoping to seem as if somehow you're wise?
A M: Before the first pour, a whisk or a spoon or something more, one must consider intention, constitution, and culinary inspiration.
M: it's a cake, that you bake, where the flour is the base, sugar the taste, and colors meant to decorate.
A M: No need to simplify, I ask that you rectify your pompous pontification.
Myself: writing, baking, what does it matter. We write, we bake, that's all that matters.
a writing exercise
Dez Mar 28
Where I want to be is never were I can be
Why is the forbidden always the one I can only see
In my sight but out of my reach
And now the memory hangs like a leach.

Take of thy desires
No one will be the wiser.

Withhold thine hand
You never know where sin will land.

To the voices ever near
To which do I give ear?
They do pester me at every choice
Which do you give the greater voice?
Dez Mar 21
Let me expound upon
The words that happened before the dawn
It was between two poets
The one who was a fretful poet
The other was a friend a brother
Who now did encourage the other.

I read my poems                                                            ­                                    
And truth be told                                                             ­                               
I think them lame                                                             ­                                   
And there is no excuse                                                           ­                             
For me to use                                                              ­                                          
Any more time                                                             ­                                         
To write one more line.                                                            ­                          

                                     ­                                                  My dearest comrade
                                                                ­                          You’re not that bad
                                                             ­                         I’ve read your poetry
                                                          ­                                And it inspired me
                                                              ­                             Don’t stop writing
                                                         ­      Because it seems no fish are biting
                                                 I don’t know why you changed your view
                                              You once were as shiny as the morning dew
                                                             ­     But do not fear for you can come
                                                            ­                     And once again become
                                                          ­    Like the person, you now do shun.

But so much work and effort come                                                             ­   
If to poetry I run                                                              ­                                
To rhyme every day                                                              ­                          
In different ways just to say                                                              ­              
How I am feeling about the day.                                                             ­     
I love the language for it is to me                                                               ­   
A form of art that I can see                                                              ­              
And form some shapes with my words                                                      
However absurd!                                                          ­                                  
To paint a picture in the mind                                                             ­           
Oh, how divine!                                                          ­                                      
But alas, it is too sad                                                              ­                          
For I feel as though I am bad                                                              ­            
And I am tired of the same words                                                            ­    
Though many escape like the birds                                                            ­  
And fly away to by and by….                                                                 ­ 

                                                              ­                                 Oh dear brother
                                                                ­    Did you not hear your mother?
                                                         ­                         She did give her speech
                                                                ­    That we are to be like the beach
                                                           ­        Standing strong against the tide
                                                            ­   No matter how our hands are tied
                                                            ­                       And now comes doubt
                                                                ­ To crush thee and knock thee out
                                                        So stand strong and remember the joy
                                                   That you had with poetry like it were toy
                                                             ­                      Now pick up your pen
                                                             ­                            And go to your den
                                                             ­                   And write what you will
                                                            ­     No one could ever keep you still

And so the conversation ended
But this is for those who needed mended
A word of encouragement
For those who are in discouragement.
Isabella Mar 22
Dear people I love,
I'm sorry I let out my stress on you.
(Because often it's the people you're closest to who get hurt the most when you're angry at everything but them.)
I'm sorry you have to deal with my uptight, stress-case, mess of a personality.
(Because some things bring out the worst side in you, a side you wish nobody had to see. A side hidden beneath smiles and laughs and true happiness. The side that's all your fault.)
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
(One sorry for the people you didn't mean to hurt.)
(One sorry for the air which absorbed your negative energy.)
(One sorry for your palms which have been dug into far too many times.)
(One sorry for your eyes which have cried too many frustrated tears.)
(And one last sorry for you. I'm sorry you have to feel this way, that you think it's all your fault.)
(But that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do to change it.)
-I. Quill
Isabella Mar 22
My heart feels tight and fast and anxious,
When things are out of my control.
I feel a need to grasp at anything I can,
For when there is no sense of stability or familiarity or predictability,
I feel like everything around me will shatter into a million pieces.
Including me.

*

Maybe it's because I've had to take on this role my whole life,
This role of taking care of everything. Planning, being on time, making sure things line up.
This role that has been the cause of my stress.
Or perhaps it's because things have happened, in my past, that I had no control over.
And now I'm frantically reaching for something, anything, that I can control.
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