When you say you want to die,
I want to say 'me too',
But I can't,
Because you're only eleven.
When you ask about the scars on my arm,
I tell you it happen by accident,
So not to give you any ideas,
Because you're only eleven.
When you cry and I hold you tight,
I tell you a lie,
That everything is going to be ok,
Because you're only eleven.
When I cry I cover my eyes,
I don't want you to see my pain,
So I can help you deal with yours,
Because you're only eleven.
When things get to hard,
I want to keep you safe,
So you don't have to face the world alone,
Because you're only eleven.
When you say you want to die,
I promise to help you live,
And give you the support I never got,
Because I was only seven.
I still don't know how I feel about this poem. It's about me and my little brother (I guess mental illness must run in the family). I've always felt the conflict of what is the best thing to do when he tells me he wants to die. Do I be the strong older sibling or tell him I understand and have been through the same things (as a role model that can backfire really badly, it's hard to explain). I still don't know what the right thing to do is and I don't think I ever will
