New York City Suicide
It’s a crushing realization that nobody on the subway platform cares if I am about to die, that no one will try to talk me out of it, that they all have jobs to be at and homes to return to. Why does nobody care about me?
I know why nobody cares; I have chosen a place where nobody cares, a place of headaches, morning commutes, and hurried, impersonal coffee purchases. I don’t want to be in this place anymore. I don’t want to die; I just can’t live like this. I feel the plastic bag of syringes shift in my backpack as if on cue.
They’ll say I was high when I fell in front of the train. They’ll say only 10% of junkies make it out alive. They’ll say “it’s an epidemic!” They’ll say we need better programs in the schools. They’ll say my parents came to identify my body and couldn’t even recognize their own daughter. They’ll say a lot of things. They won’t say that I was in pain right before I died. They won’t say that I was trying to get better.
Her Pretty Red Clothes
She walked down the road,
In her pretty red clothes,
Ignoring the ones around.
But the crowd closed in
Saying, “You don’t fit in!”
And then the girl was down.
She went back home,
Telling Mom she felt alone,
’Cause people don’t like her looks.
Then Mom whispered in her ear,
Something that filled her with cheer,
And she walked to the bathroom door.
She saw in the mirror,
It couldn’t be clearer,
The pretty girl who walked outside that day.
She walked down the road,
In her pretty red clothes,
With a smile wide and proud.
She said to the others, “I looked in the mirror, and myself I’ve started to adore!”
“I shouldn’t listen to what you say. I am something more!”
The others were confused, why hadn’t she changed?
She came out again and still looked the same!
The girl spoke one last time,
“You must be blind, I think I look divine!”
And she walked down the road some more.
Our Prologue
Our prologue began the moment
you said, “thank you.”
The pages turned one by one
as dialogue exchanged between our lips spilled
like ink, yet settled like the stars above us,
enchanting.
As the story unfolds like
a secret note passed between two teenagers
Lingering hesitation
Whispered half-truths
Breathless laughs
entwined our words
connecting our narrative.
The plot thickens as white lies seeped through
parchment paper and fears of rejection echoed
with every flip of a new page.
A muttered “I like you,” changed the direction
of the sails and set forth a storm
that raged across the unknown.
A battlefield of emotions roared to life
As our storyline blossomed under
rough weather and past mistakes
leaving behind a trail of tears and punctured wounds.
The Ship of Dreams sailed across our pages
anchored on specific chapters
waiting patiently for us to overcome
demons, past loves and current insecurities
Paper cuts and bloodstains
Solidified page 126 as the turning point
In this esoteric story
Raw truths
Chest aches
Untangled our love language
Disconnected our short history.
Our new scene began the moment
You said, “You are it, baby.”
The page stills
as heartfelt conversations kissed our lips
like morning dew, lingering between us,
refreshing.
-5/19/19
Photo Credit: me
