Worthless

Author’s Note: I wrote this when I felt extremely low and like no one really understood my pain. I got to thinking, and they do. In fact, depression isn’t noticed in the workplace and is often seen as weakness. I wanted to fight that. It’s not weakness. It is an illness.

I am getting better, day by day. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255. Don’t hesitate to call if you feel suicidal.

Sending love,

Heather

——-

Weary-eyed, he trudges

Through the crowded streets

Of shouting scammers, venders–

Panicked passerby.

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

He glances at his feet;

Shined–freshly shined shoes

Yet an unreal break from reality.

What is he

In this busy crowd?

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

The train ride isn’t too bad–

He finds a crumpled newspaper 

And scand the headlines.

That boy is dead.

That building has been destroyed

In this awful world of hate,

In this awful world of pain.

“Worthless. I an worthless.”

He opens the door slowly,

Confidently

Maybe–

He rubs his tired eyes once more:

“Let’s start the day.”

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

Stacks of unfinished work

Smile at him menacingly.

Yet he wishes to escape

This wasted life.

“Worthless. I am worthless.”

This may be final, he thinks…

“It’ll be a few minutes,” he sheepishly says.

He knows of the risks, but–

What else can happen

To make life less miserable?

Then again the scratched bathroom 

Walls

Appear like a twisted dream

In front of his sweaty face.

He’ll do this tonight, he swears.

Tonight it will end.

And he returns to the train,

Legs aching with fatigue.

Freedom runs through his veins

As he waits.

Perhaps that’s absurd.

“Maybe I don’t need to die.”

But his mind shouts,

“Worthless. You are worthless.”

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About heatherd001

Hello! My name is Heather. I'm sixteen years old and I love to write (poems mostly) but I'm working on some story- and novel-writing. Writing is a creative outlet for me.
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