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Tide Islands Dec 2014
Such a tragedy
to be robbed of one's youth
like a plant that has been uprooted
before it blooms.

But there must come a day,
be it soon or late, when our bodies shall
kiss the earth as she welcomes us home
with open arms.

We will all
bloom again, but in a different way,
and our petals shall decorate the graves
of those who return.

It is alright to cry,
because our tears shall water
the fields of the ones we have loved,
for when we die,

we are flowers.
I did not know Andy. We never spoke, since I recently joined, but I know all too well the pain of having lost someone too soon.
All I can hope is that everyone who has ever loved him stays safe in this time of grief, and can soon find the comfort and healing they need. I can see he was loved very much. You are all in my thoughts.
This poem is for him and for the rest of you.
I'm sorry it is not very good, since you all deserve so much more, but I can not offer anything except my words. I feel as though anything I say will be the wrong thing to say, but I mean well.

It is my belief that when we die, our remains will eventually become flowers. When I think about this, it personally helps me cope with death. Perhaps it will help someone else through their grief.

With love,
J.E. DuPont

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity."
-Edvard Munch
Tide Islands Dec 2014
I have evolved

to survive in the blackest depths
where there is no light, no sound.
To survive at the tallest heights
where the air is too thin to breathe.
Yet, I am being crushed by the immense pressure
of the unexplored trenches of my mind.
I am being suffocated by the lack of oxygen
at the sickening peaks of my vacant euphoria.

I have evolved

not to thrive, not to live, but to survive, to exist.
I can't remember the last time I felt human
at the apex or the bottom of my trivial existence.
I don't believe that I ever was, because
humans have evolved to live
on stable grounds below the cliffs.
They have evolved to build the ships
that sail above me while I drift.

I have evolved

                                                   ­                                                     only to exist.
I don't necessarily believe this, but sometimes this is what it feels like.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Dec 2014
To say I thought about you
was an understatement.
My lungs ached with the
sound of your name
pouring out with my breath.
It sounded so lovely paired
with an ampersand and mine.
My heart fell into rhythm
with each syllable that tumbled
from between your lips.
It pounded so longingly
within the walls of my chest.
My nose savored the scent
of you that wafted into
my nostrils when we passed.
You smelled like pine needles,
cigarettes, and the cold.
My eyes locked onto you
and your vibrant red hair as
you walked alone in a crowd.
You always stood out no matter
how many people were there.
My hands would write each
whispered word I had of you
dwelling deep within my mind.
I never had so many words
until the day I met you.
I still think about you, and
that is still an understatement.
I'm posting old stuff, because new stuff that I write is in need of heavy editing. If I posted new stuff, you'd all think I was drunk. (Which I am, slightly...) I'll shut up now.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Dec 2014
I’ve always been close with the snow,
since your funeral that one January.
I hadn’t really thought about why,
until I went to visit that place where
we scattered your ashes into the winds
of that blizzard in the dead of winter.
Your mother had said that the snowstorm
was the best time to let you go,
since you had always wanted to fly away.
I didn’t realize at the time I released
a fistful of your remains,
just how familiar the icy flakes felt against me.
The thing about the snow,
is that if you stand in it long enough,
you become so numb that it hurts.
You can’t feel your senses, only the winter’s cold.
And that’s as close as I’ve ever come to
explaining what it’s like being without you.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Dec 2014
The empty space in my bed
constantly reminds me that I’m alone.
The walls around this house
no longer feel quite like a home.
I’m blocking out the memories
of you within my head.
I’m staring at the ceiling instead
of books I should have read.
There’s a hole inside my heart and
self-destruction in my brain.
These voices in my mind are
slowly driving me insane.
I can’t remember when
I smiled the last time.
I’m drowning all my sorrows
in *****, gin, and wine.
I’m calling out for help, but
not a soul can hear my voice.
I’m tired of people telling me
that happiness is a choice.
I’m waiting for something to happen
just so they know how I feel.
I’m so **** isolated that
this loneliness seems unreal.
This piece was meant to show the hideous face of a severe mental disorder. If I have to correct one more person, asking them to remove a comment about this saying this is "tragically beautiful," I'm going to rip my ******* hair out. I wrote this during a very dark time, I worked through it, and I thought it would be a good piece to illustrate the hell I put up with. Stop romanticizing mental disorders!
If you think this is beautiful, you've missed the purpose of this piece,
and personally, I have a problem with you.
© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Dec 2014
Here, I cannot stay.
These buildings. These people;
I'm drowning in their faces.
My lungs ache; they are
filled with the commonplace,
and they must be emptied.
I will never go back.

© J.E. DuPont
Tide Islands Dec 2014
You can’t chase me
on my own mountain;
I know every rock and *****.
If you try and follow me
to the peak,
the cold winds
will make you fall.
If you try to climb
the other side,
the sharp rocks
will crumble apart.
I’m up here
because it’s safe,
and you can’t navigate
the steep terrain.
But you won’t give up
which worries me,
because if you find
the right path,
I’ll have to find
a new mountain.
Old one. Because I didn't have time to write today.
© J.E. DuPont
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