By Linda M. Crate


My uncle's suicide

taught me
I didn't really want to die
just wanted the pain
inside of me to wither away
wanted to carve it out
but it remains here with all these
clouds of rage that don't just blow
away in the wind;
some days are good but there are also
bad days
hard and heavy
where I feel like an anchor is wrapped
around my ankles -
I am screaming at the top of my lungs
but no one hears my pleas
for help,
and I am here trying to find ways to get the
weight off of me that is dragging me down;
some days I am successful
others I fall beneath the water choking on darkness
promising myself that tomorrow is another
day, trying to hold onto a light
I cannot see -
everyone has to save themselves,
but sometimes I think it would be nice
if someone could take the time to walk with me
because even in silence I can be content
as long as I know I am not always alone.

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© Robin Barratt