Two Sides of Suicide (For Leelah Alcorn)Messages travel far in death,
as our words are often
heard in our final breaths.
Though by no means is suicide
a noble act, and I don't
condone it, no matter the fact.
But unlike many of my friends,
I can't consider it a sin,
and at times it's done with the
belief of selflessness.
Though I think a line is drawn,
when we involve those undeserving.
When we ruin an innocent life,
due to our own unnerving.
To put ones self in the line of fire,
in an attempt to rid themselves
of Earth's malicious desires
makes their act selfish,
as they destroy the life
of the innocent.
How can therapy reverse what's been done?
Even if it was suicide,
the damage has been done.
No one deserves to kill she, who wanted death,
who was selfish enough
to leave the deed to a helpless man.
I like to think she was irrational,
as I support her cause. But the more
I think as rational,
the more I curse her loss.
Because no one can describe the horror
of an accidental murder. A murder
TearlessWe're all wearing black, of course.
It's not like you would have settled for anything less, would you? Muffled coughs echo around the church- there always seems to be someone with a cough at these things, though I admit I haven't been to a lot of funerals.
Music starts. I exhale once, a sharp motion that pushes the air out of my lungs and vapour spills from between my lips instead, even though we’re indoors. The heels of my boots keep clicking loudly against the stone floor and the tag on the back of my dress itches. I've worn this dress to a funeral before- I wouldn't want you to think I'd go out and buy a new dress especially for you. After a lifetime (or my life up until now, anyway) of complaining about how I "could be so pretty if you tried!" and pursing your lips in clear disapproval of my tomboy proclivities, you should be grateful I wore a dress at all.
Grateful. That was always such a big theme for you, wasn't it? Or, more specifically, you never got the gratitude
biopsyput me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c. two sacs of cells, nestled beside each other.
(no first-hand smoke here, no sir.
only second-hand dust, only
things i could not get rid of,
only bits of places i've been,
caught in my body.
postcards of memories i can't see.)
d. a skeleton, still and alive.
(sleeping, with blood cells being produced
in the hollows of my curves.
the rattling of my bones cannot
ContinueWhen the world strikes you down,
When your smile becomes a frown,
When you stumble and fall,
When you wager and lose all,
When the world laughs at you,
When many becomes few,
There's nothing else to do except...
How to Love YourselfPromise yourself
that you will do things
right this time
Swear to yourself that
you really can keep
Tell yourself that you
have what it takes -
that you're only failing
because you aren't
trying hard enough
But repeat to yourself more often that
sometimes it really isn't your fault -
sometimes the teacher is terrible
or you didn't have time to eat
or you were just too tired
Tell yourself that you
know what you're doing.
Tell yourself that you
are prepared to fly
even if your wings are
Tell yourself that you'll
And if you ever catch
yourself breaking down,
god, just don't stop running
or else you'll realize
that your lungs are
starved for oxygen
Just repeat while breathless,
"I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.
I am okay-"
Write across your collarbone:
"I am not trash.
I am enough.
I deserve to be happy.
I am perfect and
nothing needs fixing."
Everything's the fault of
the rest of the world
The path with scarsThe best path to take,
Is the one that leaves scars.
Paths that leave scars
Might not always be the easiest,
Or even the most popular
But the one that leaves scars
Will be the one that can show you
All that you can be
The path with scars
Is lined with bones
And filled with heartbreak
But in the end you will find
That it was worth every step
So the next chance you get
Take the path
That leaves scars
When Diamond BreaksIt has been three years since the last mirror I owned was taken down from its wall. It must have been almost seventeen-years old, though it never showed its age. This is probably why I despised it so much. Perhaps if this mirror grew age-spots and if the wooden frames wrinkled and withered away over the years, perhaps then I would have kept it. But all I saw in that mirror was my beauty and tenacity melting away into a scraggly, veined memory of what used to be.
In the bathtub, I mused a pathetic thought of calling a man over to coat my windows in anti-reflective film. Fortunately, I was interrupted by a noisy insect buzzing and knocking against the dim ceiling light. This gave my conscience the opportunity to retort with an image of Carl, frowning down at me from his La-Z-Boy cloud in heaven; his bright angel wings hanging limply from the clefts in his shoulders – having not seen any use – and his white robe clinging to his hairy, sweaty back.
“Come now darlin’
read this when you're sadStars
sing to yourself when the lights have burned out
tell yourself that it will be alright
to bury bits and pieces of your heart
into the frozen ground of familiar
yet barren territory.
the world could be waging its war,
burning ships and mountains and even
the sun that has cast its dusty light
and blurred the shadows that have become your dreams
or nightmares that leave you gasping
for air and clutching the bedsheets so hard that there's
nothing else but a numbness in your knuckles
(and tears in your eyes but you would never dare admit it,
because you loathed crying since the day it marked you as weak.
but it's ok now. turn back time and tell yourself that again and again.)
whether the memories have returned
of when you were four and your father ripped apart your favorite toy
or when he laid his hands on the Yamaha that you harbored a love-hate relationship with
ever since talent lost its way with you
or when he made you kneel and beg for forgiveness countless times