PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Will I make it?


Dear God,

You have the ability to do anything, know anything...correction everything

As I smile on my first day of school you hear my every thought,

When I step on the court for a game you feel every butterfly.

As I take my Spanish test you feel my pulse race 

You hold me up when the eighth period hits 

you lay me down when 1 a.m. comes

I know that asking you direct questions does not mean I will have direct answers

but, I can't help but try it. If I don't ask the answer is no, right?

 

God, will I make it?

I've been struggling harder than ever now with the separation of my parents and the lack of recognition in myself.

I'm either angry sad or indifferent almost all the time and I never know who to call

Obviously, I have people to call but I don't want to bother them

wake them up

distract them 

or bore them with something that seems "easy to fix" or "not that bad"

I assume I have to make it but that's not guaranteed

You could call me home after I finish this letter 

or in 60 years 

I guess I'll just have to make the best of my time now.

and yes I know I'll smile some more 

and eat regularly 

and talk to my loved ones 

and make sure they know 

I love them, I don't need to make it 

I will make the best of what I can, right now 

                                             Sincerely yours,

                                                              Your Loving Child

 

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

Comments are closed for this poem.