I write for you. ~ 5 August 2013
Location
When we are young
we learn
that people who cut
are wrong,
are different,
maybe even frightening.
That depression is
uncommon.
We do not learn
the ways to break free and escape
when depression comes
knocking at our door.
So I sat,
On the edge of my bed
In Pain,
On the edge of my bed
In Tears,
And my hand drifted towards
The Razor.
It was me versus the World,
and the World was winning.
But as my hand fell hopelessly to my side
It landed on a weapon,
A Pen.
Everytime the tip of the pen
hits the page,
Emotions appear in Rhymes and Rhythems,
and all of a sudden the world makes sense,
and all of a sudden I am not standing alone.
I began to advance,
Tackling every obsticle that entered my path,
But my fight was always
Defensive.
I was unable to prevent
problems from striking,
Again and Again,
They kept coming.
I was becoming to tired to fight
Day after wretched day.
But then I left the home I knew
And entered another world of people,
Waldsee.
We spoke the same language,
our language.
We were all on another page,
our page.
They read words no one else had,
My words.
And they didn't judge me as I had feared,
they Smiled.
And asked for a copy of their own
that they could read
on days they felt the same way.
And from the moment that I entered that world on,
I write for
Me,
I write for
Them,
I write so we can all
Live,
I write so we can all
Smile,
I write so we don't have to pick up
The Dreaded Razor.