I write not because it makes me feel special,
Not because it makes me feel scholarly,
But because it’s my one bit of air that I gasp in
Before the tidal wave comes crashing down over my head,
Drowning me in water, until the all-consuming darkness
Crams its way down my throat.
The darkness doesn’t do that to everyone, however.
Only people that have something wonky in their brain, like my best friend.
Or people like me, who had to see their best friend be broken down by life
When their best friend’s friend committed suicide.
For some people, the darkness is the end. For some people, it’s the beginning of a long time of hurting, of torture.
For others, it’s something to be combated. Some of us have to remain strong, to protect those we love.
What weapon can combat this darkness? Poetry, of course. It’s my rapier of light, when all other lights have been shrouded.
Poetry is my lifeline when the darkness consumes everything around me, and I am left on a tiny island of razor sharp rock in a sea of bitterness.
I would be alone in the world, save for one thing.
I have a weapon. I have a way to fight.
I have poetry.