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A mark that an author uses to end their story but chooses not to,
A reference for someone who wants to end their life but chooses not to,
A person who reminds the someone to just keep going.
If you have no other reason to stay on earth let me give you a reason,
Don’t end your story, write it and keep writing it. Write what you would want to read,
Write what you would want your parents, children, and siblings to read.
There is something or someone being your semicolon because you’re still here, so stay and keep writing your story.
Be someone’s reason to live. Remind them their life on earth matters and to keep going. Reminders are free and lives are priceless. 💙
Senthil Rhaj Jun 12
Life was void.

It’s she,

Opened the curly braces

Of my life;

My heart,

Imbibed the input –

Stream of her smiles;

The output – “<3 <3”

Got into an infinite loop

On the soul’s own console;

Sensing the love in return,

Jumped to the function – Life:

The Life with various parameters –

Joy, sorrow, warm, pain

Passed through a switch..

That returned “Love” on every case;

Life was full of snickers

At the mistakes of semicolons;

Making the bytes of sweet memories

Giga bytes to zetta bytes;

Now, the time,

As good code must,

Terminating with a graceful

End, Kissing her, Love!
m X c Jan 28
Almost a year ago.
“If suicide is not a sin,
I might not be writing this now.”

“I want to rest now, I don’t think I can still fight.
I’m giving up now. But I’m scared. Can I have a hug?. Before I go to rest”
Please don’t be weak like me, you’re fighter but not me.
Mandi Wolfe Nov 2019
We were both writers.
You with a fountain pen and moleskin notebook  
I with anything I could scrawl on -tears always just at the edges of me
and in this way we began to author our life together.
We put pen to paper that first night
drunk on gas station liquor and on not feeling so alone.
Our hungry bodies filled page after page
with what I would come to believe
would be my magnum opus.

In your wedding vows you said that we would
“work together to fill the pages with
conflict, desire, pain and all that makes life real
so that we can appreciate all that makes life good”
You were not much of a co-author though
preferring instead to write alone at night while I slept
How many times did I revisit a previous chapter
only to find that you had introduced a new character
or a dark and bizarre plot twist without my knowledge?
Eventually these discoveries would become as predictable
as the indignant denials
eventual apologies
and promises that would always follow them

lather, rinse, repeat

Over years these edits and additions
would knock the air from my lungs
completely shaking my confidence as a writer.
With cramping hands I would try to rewrite the bad parts
though my scribble marks did little to mask the words beneath.
Words that once had flowed as easily and copiously as I had for you
now came only in fits and starts
each new chapter torn from the bones of my bones.
How many times did the ten eyes we wrote in
watch as writers block turned to writers rage
producing furious missives that would tear holes in pages without warning?
Still even as my teeth-torn hands turned arthritic
I couldn’t seem to just put down the ******* pen
Because it was our story
and because I loved it
and because I loved us
and because I loved you.

I ended our story with a semicolon
Its already faded form staring up from my ring finger
a reminder that I could have chosen to end my story but didn’t.
You once told me that a good author always employs irony
and I have always been a better writer than you’ve given me credit

You’re not fully healed
but you’re not still broken.
With every passing sunrise,
your soul earns another token.

You choose to keep going
when all you wanted was to quit,
and look how far you’ve come
from when your heart was severely split.

The light at the end of
your tunnel gets brighter every day.
Thank you for putting down the pills,
the knife, or the gun and choosing to stay.
Shout out to everyone who chose to keep fighting those inner demons.
Dillon Driskill Jun 2019
It flashes
Flashes flashes and flashes
It always has and always will
It cares not for it's creator
Nor it's destroyer
As long as its here
It flashes




Oh, but life goes on, does it not?
m X c Jun 2019
I stopped
I feel hopeless
I feel emptiness
I feel like its the end
Yeah I stopped
But Because
I wanna take away everything,
every thoughts, every pain, every tears that kept
I am tired of everything and for everyone,
I want to rest...
that's the point.
I want rest.
Stand & Fight again.
it's okay not to be okay. just rest and after fight
Melanie May 2019
Trigger Warning: Self Harm*

The stencil is made, a bold, yet simple
mark with two meanings. For writers,
the mark is used to continue a sentence;
for others, the mark is used to continue a life.

The Golden Dragon Tattoo Parlor smells faintly of bleach.
Pictures of art and family cover the walls, a shelf full of trophies
shining under the fluorescent lights. Drawers with individually
wrapped needles and ink pots line the back wall.

The buzzing of tattoo guns overpowers grunge music,
voices of other customers overpowering the buzzing.
It only hurts a little bit, my artist tries reassuring me,
but his stories of drugs and arrests only worry me more.

Holding my breath I climb up on the black leather chair.
My shaking nerves show through my splotchy, tear stained face.
I clench my fists, embedding my nails into my palms.
The cluster of needles are hovering over my arm,
preparing to mark a permanent goodbye to the past;

Goodbye to the 10 PM moments, shooting up from bed
sweating, crying, my hand on my chest, feeling my heart
beating ba dump ba dump ba dump ba dump.
Sliding down to the floor to let the linoleum cool me.

Goodbye to the 12 AM moments, curled up on cold tiles.
Razor in my hand marking a tally for every flaw,
every mistake every bad thought I point out.
Short, fat, clingy, shy.

Goodbye to the 2 AM moments, plastering my thigh and
wrist with bandaids, later choosing to trade T-shirts
and shorts with long sleeves and jeans.
80 degrees won't stop me from covering everything.

The tears are there, not from pain
but from the familiar rush of adrenaline.
The sensation of feeling something other
than worthlessness and self-doubt.

A semicolon has two meanings;
continuing a sentence,
or continuing a life.
This poem has been submitted to Telluride Institute's Fischer Prize poetry contest.
m X c Feb 2019
If suicide is not a sin.
I might not be writing this now.
Semicolon Oct 2018
Have you ever seen a sunflower reaching out to the sun, following him wherever he goes?

Or an evening water lily shying away and blushing under her lovely pink at all times when the sun is in the sky?

Have you ever seen a dandelion break herself into countless little pieces and fly away to places unbeknownst, just to make herself full again?

Have you ever seen a rose, apprehensive of what might destroy him, guarding himself with numerous thorns, yet so beautiful that you can’t help but ignore his thorns?

Have you ever seen daisies growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, reminding you to look for beauty even when you can’t?

Have you ever seen flowers? Then you have seen love; for flowers are nothing, but love.
"Flowers are love's truest language"
– Søren Kierkegaard

© Semicolon
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