To The One Who Don’t Understand (A Response to Gwendolyn Brooks “To the Young Who Want to Die”)

Mon, 01/04/2021 - 22:13 -- mIeNlFP

I already sat down. I had inhaled. I had exhaled.

The gun I couldn’t find. Had no time to find a lake so yes I will wait.

My thoughts don’t wait though, but wonder.

The thoughts have been knotted into my head and I’m still here but how long is the wait.

Will wait will wait: 

My brain won’t wait,

 This side of some of us is impulsive.

Not every day I wanted to die. 

On certain days I wished I was allowed to cry, 

without being told to stay at the same emotional level.

Without being told to maintain pain and stay on the same page.

And the burning tears that were kept in were provoked to becoming rage. 

I wished I had a drug to drain the water from my eyes

so no one could see me cry, 

so they can be happy, 

because it selfish to want to die but not when they never want to learn why.

So these bald up tears I was told to fear was too told to wait.

They're just thoughts of the past;

they never go but wait in the moment until you act.

I have been waiting since I was 5.

but if I went I'll just be another young statistic?

Assumed it was because of a sickness.

Confused as being crazy now all for attention.

 

Yes, We make notes before our deaths for attention.

I don't know why but maybe because I want help or something.

 

It's not pain if you can’t see the feeling it seems so we make cuts and bruises so they can see a pain they can understand.

 

But I wait and wait and wait and wait. 

Some days I’m waiting for life.

Some days I’m waiting for death.

Because depression could go for a while, 

but also waits even till spring.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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