There she sat, drowsy and slouched,

Thinking, "Why does it have to be this way?"

For a person with depression, even when you give every ounce,

It never seems to be enough.

Nothing seems to be enough.

Just 15 years old, she was so vibrant with dreams and love.

But the world had begun to turn against her.

Her heart was broken and she didn't understand.

"Why do the other kids pick on me?

She knew the answer was easy as could be;

Sufferers of anxiety and depression are easy targets.

Just 16 years old, she was hopeless and empty.

But for her, the fight wouldn't end so quickly. 

She wanted it to end; 

She wanted to die

But she was smart, and she knew how to lie.

"Yes, Mommy, I'm perfectly fine." she chirped with a smile.

"Yes, Daddy, I'll be alright." she spoke with tears in her eyes.

She hid in her room, with a paper and pen,

And wrote down everything again and again.

From the way she was bullied, to the fear she felt.

She began to let go; the writing had helped.

Who knew that poetry could save her in the way that it did?

 

 

She's 17 now,  full of joy and peace.

And she writes every night, one poem at least.

The way the words saved her were irreplacable.

For, nobody but her could ever understand exactly how she felt. 

That smoothe purple pen and that old white notebook

Took her to paradise...

 

 

Looking back, although I still remember it all,

I'm bursting with gratitude for my discovery of poetry.

"Why did it have to be that way?" I wonder silently.

"Because you're a survivor, and now you can use the same words that saved you, to save others."